Johnny Survivor
by Arenas
Summary: It's what happens when a deadbeat fanfic writer takes Johnny Depp characters, becomes influenced by friends and decides to stick them on a desert island together. Lots of madness and fun. Chapter 11 in honor of a belated April Fool's Day.
1. In which our heroes are taken by force

**Title:** Johnny Survivor

**Rating:** PG (Innuendo, what can I say?)

**Summary:** The twisted brainchild of a weirdo in desperate need of new ideas for writing material. Lucky story doesn't know what hit it. What happens when Johnny Depp in a good deal of his incarnations get stuck on an island to play... well... Survivor? And more important... when those incarnations' Angels spur me on to greatness (cough)?

**Author's Notes:** You asked for it, JA. I didn't think this first chapter would ever end but... heh, it did! And... if some of the people aren't right, 1) you'll know exactly who I'm talking about, 2) I either didn't know them or they just weren't talking to me. And I kind of liked the idea of getting that Sunday deadline spot on, if you know what I mean. Without further ado, the longest part of the story yet!

**Chapter 1 In which our heroes are taken by force to the place of the competition**

Captain Jack Sparrow took one last look about the ship to make sure there was nothing more to be done before he left for his month-long excursion to win a much-coveted prize. Not that Jack really had any idea what the prize was, but honestly, who didn't like prizes? Besides, it sounded like he couldn't commandeer it all by his onesies, or even twosies with CC.

CC was behind the wheel. She'd miss her pirate, no doubt about that, but he did need to get out more. And no, wandering off to the Cantina did NOT count. Besides, she'd have time to catch up on her recent Harry Potter affliction and hopefully recover enough before Jack decided the set of books would make nice life savers.

"Ye'll take care o' th' Pearl, won't ye, luv?" the Captain asked, concern showing in his expression. CC merely rolled her eyes.

"How many times do I have to tell ye? I'll be _fine_. I managed all right when DB borrowed ye!"

"O' course, ye did, luv! I was jes' makin' sure is all. She'll be swabbed daily...?"

"Aye."

"And the crew kept in line...?"

"Jack..."

"And absolutely no pillaging until I return!"

"Jack! Get on already, ye bloody scalawag!"

Jack backed away, his hands up, "All right, all right, ye made yer point. Until next time, luv, I'll-"

CC never got to hear the rest of the message. Jack had tumbled over the side of the Black Pearl and was currently splashing below to get his bearings back. A small motorboat had pulled over beside the distraught figure and hauled him on board.

"Remember, you signed a release!" a voice cried as the little boat zoomed out of sight. There was just time enough to see the Survivor logo emblazoned on the side...

The sun was already up, awake, and ready to burn the retinas of anybody foolish enough to look in the East that uneventful morning. The sand in the ring was radiating heat like a demonic microwave oven and the Sands in the top box trying to avoid the worst of the high temperatures was exuding coolness and collectivity.

"Listen, Sands, we _have_ to turn on the air conditioner. It's too hot not to!"

"We don't have to do anything. It's fine the way it is."

"Are you insane? It's 96 degrees! AT 8 IN THE MORNING!"

"It's a dry heat," Sands smirked at his overwrought Angel.

"Fine, I'll do it and you can consider yourself getting a cold shoulder in more ways than one, savvy?" Arenas rolled her eyes. An 86 degree 'dry heat' in the North at high noon was far too much. It was AC or someone could bask in the middle of the arena with his need for excruciating heat. She turned the dial to High Cool and sighed with pleasure at the immediate blast of stale (but nice) Mexican air. The poor, decrepit machine wasn't on more than 5 seconds when Sands decided it was his way and screw the consequences. He began to methodically squeeze the trigger of the first weapon he pulled out of his pants. As the AC sputtered and sparked indignantly, Arenas rounded on her oh-so-stubborn Johnny.

"What, pray tell was that for and where'd you get my water pistol?"

"I told you I didn't want it on and I found it. Anymore questions?" Sands smiled calmly before squirting Arenas in the middle of the forehead.

"Yeah, are you sure you don't have a possibly evil schizophrenic personality bent on the misery of those around you? Possibly goes by your middle name...?"

"Now where'd you get that crazy idea?"

"Nowhere, nowhere at all," her mouth finally broke into the first smile of the day. Partly to get him back for the still smoking AC and partly because it would be a long 39 days without him, Arenas leaped into his arms with a happy, reckless abandon. He stumbled slightly from the unexpected action, but didn't let go.

"And what's this for?"

"It's a goodbye hug and kiss, what else would it be? I'm gonna' miss you, boyo. Win something, play nice and don't shoot anybody."

"I'll try not to if you'll stop suffocating me," Sands replied, a slight wheeze in his voice. The Agente blushed and released the Agent.

"If it's a money gig, you're buying a new AC. You ready?"

"As always, sugarbutt.

Arenas saw fit to see her Johnny off to fame and glory like the perfectly devoted damsel she wasn't. Some stroke of luck found a car already out front waiting for Sands. They both would have normally questioned something like that had the driver not immediately ushered Sands into the back of the sports car with fervor.

"We're _late_! Come on, come on, move it!"

Arenas didn't even have time to blink before the car hit a pot hole and sped away.

The Bubble Den was alive and hopping as per usual. Iggy and Abberline were sharing a relaxing puff of the same bubble wand when the owner of the establishment walked somberly up to the carefree pair.

"Sir, you are wanted outside on urgent business," the man murmured, head bowed. Both, expecting the worst, jumped up and strode purposefully towards the door. If the Ripper was back and roaming the streets, the better off they'd be if they had a fast start.

The eerily lit street was devoid of all life. Even the animals had chosen to hole in. Of course, it could have been the anachronistic 2001 Acura idling in the middle of the street. Something about the strange and unusual usually makes people uneasy. Abberline was even a tad leery. It was Iggy that took the initiative to knock on the driver's side window.

"Can I help you? I don't really think you're in the right... time..." Iggy called tentatively into the crack that appeared in the window.

"You've participated in enough Angel Adventures to know that logic doesn't apply when one has the strength of imagination. How do you think we picked up Captain Jack?" If the voice had a face, (and it was fairly likely it did) Iggy could imagine it would be currently wearing a lazy Cheshire cat-like smile. It sounded far too pompous and self-confident to be healthy.

"Point taken," her brows furrowed, trying to remember if there was any reason there was a 21st century car sitting outside a 20th century bubble den. She turned to Fred to see if he was having better luck with it when it suddenly dawned on her.

"This wouldn't be that thing where you take Fred and make him go on an island to bond with the natives and other Johnnies under an unforgiving sun, half-naked, possibly wet and covered in sand?"

"That would indeed be the one."

"You know, you put it in such black and white terms," Abberline smiled at his Ingenious Inspectorette.

"Well, I can't say the idea is completely unappealing," she blushed. Abberline wrapped her in a comforting hug.

"Don't worry about it. You keep this place free of most heinous crimes and I'll be sure to bring you back a souvenir. How does that sound?"

"Like a plan, my clever Inspector."

"I hate to break up this little party hear, but we've got a schedule folks. My last appointment already got me quite a bit behind so if you please!" the voice was agitated. Fred rolled his eyes and shared a last kiss with Iggy before climbing into the back seat of the car. He waved out the back window until the end.

Atop a menacing mountain was an aging mansion with but two occupants. Both of them were currently huddled around a candle holding 7 plastic playing cards.

"Got any 6's Edward?"

"No, I-I don't."

"You have to say, 'Go fish'; that's the name of the game."

"Oh, go fish."

"Now it's your turn to ask me for a card."

"Could I have your 8?"

"Go fish."

As the duo continued their casual card game, an insistent car horn wafted up through the broken windows. LMM froze, not liking the implications of that car horn. Edward seemed to be following her train of thought.

"The hidden room in the laboratory," he whispered, his face, if possible, growing even paler. LMM nodded and led the way through the maze-like building to the trapdoor beneath the late professor's examination table. They held their breath as they heard the front door creak open.

"Aw, you're gonna' make me look for you aren't you? Come on out, Edward, I've got a lot of Johnnies to collect and I'm behind already," the voice moaned as if thinking of all the work it had yet to get to. LMM traded a confused glance with Edward before peeking up from under the trap door. She was met with the image of an unsightly pair of large feet.

"Peekaboo."

"Eep!" The trapdoor slammed back down on the pair. How'd he get there so bloody fast?

"Oh come on! Please come out? I don't bite!" the voice sighed unhappily.

"Who are you and why are you here?" LMM's muffled voice floated up through the boards.

"I've come to round up Edward so he can try to win a prize against lots of other Johnnies, does that sound reasonable?"

"Oh, wait, I know you! Hey, Edward, it's okay," LMM sighed with relief. They proceeded to climb out of the floor, Edward having a bit more trouble than his Angel. Once they were both upright and facing the man come to fetch Edward, they got down to the nitty-gritty.

"So I'm not going to see Edward for a month?"

"You can watch him on TV, but yes, this is the last you'll be seeing of him for a little while."

"Aw, Edward... I'm going to miss you!"

"Where am I going?"

"To that island, remember we talked about it?"

"Oh."

"Hold me?"

"I... I can't."

LMM latched onto her Johnny and hugged him fiercely. Edward managed to squeeze lightly with his wrists but anything more would have been hazardous to his Ice Angel. He did not want a repeat of what happened in Suburbia.

"Be careful, Edward. I love you," LMM whispered.

The Johnny Collector coughed somewhat impatiently as he waited for the exposition to end. The two parted and Edward was led outside by LMM and the other man. It was sure turning out to be a weird day.

It was Mort who surprisingly woke Psnoo up from her midmorning nap. When she finally cracked open an eyelid to stare balefully up at the anxious Mort, she wasn't in the best of moods. That was unfortunately the price of staying up late writing fanfics.

"Yeah?"

"I uh... well, I... I'm leaving," Mort finally managed to announce. Psnoo managed to snap the other eye open in response to this sudden proclamation. Didn't Mort already try this once? It was a minute before she could remember what exactly Mort was talking about and yet another before she could speak rationally.

"Could you close the blinds on the way out?"

"Well... if you wouldn't mind watching the corn," Mort remarked, slightly hurt that Psnoo didn't seem to care much more than catching up on her sleep. Psnoo picked up on this and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Mort, but you really have to get a better sense of timing. I was asleep," she complained. Mort's mouth twitched into a slight smile.

"I'm sorry."

Psnoo got up from the couch and grasped the writer by the shoulders. "Mort, you won't guilt me into letting you stay. You know I love you, but you've been cooped in this cabin too long. I'd rather appreciate it if you didn't go Shooter on me and a little male bonding would do you good. To grunt and scratch yourself to your heart's content."

"I don't grunt and scratch."

"Because I won't let you. If you find yourself forgetting your love struck Angel, here's a little something to remember me by," Psnoo punctuated the statement with a slap to his backside. Before he could ask the inevitable, she decided to enlighten him. "It's that removable back pocket I've been working on. Velcro. Just don't go swimming with it on; I tried that once and I spent weeks cleaning out what had collected in there."

"I'll have to keep that in mind." Mort blushed profusely, "I'll be seeing you then. Don't let the corn go unwatered, please."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Psnoo smiled sleepily as she followed Mort to the doorway. Watched as he climbed into the SUV and was driven to adventures unknown until the first episode aired. Returned to the couch. It was a stubborn shaft of light in her eye that reminded her of a depressing fact. Mort had forgotten to shut the blinds on the way out.

It was an uneventful evening on the Las Vegas strip. Casino signs lit with esoteric lights and music from hotel floor shows floated through the pseudo-darkness. The combined effects of the psychedelic Strip worked to draw customers into the various buildings like moths to a porch light. This only aided the bats in their brisk trade of human abduction.

"Look! Up in the sky! It's a blackjack dealer!" FF cried dramatically.

"Oh no you don't, you pig-!"

"Duke!"

"What?"

"No swearing!"

Duke didn't dignify that with an answer as he lengthened his strides to try and catch up with the near invisible flock of bats. Even from that distance, Duke and FF could tell that the poor dealer was visibly shaking. The occasional screech from one of the numerous bats would cause him to yelp and attempt to cower in fear.

"Piggy, fly ahead and take Fishy with you!" FF yelled at her little bat who was flying reconnaissance above. He dove with a squeak and picked up Fishy to continue the hunt. They had managed on several incidents to catch up with the flock and attempt to seriously perturb the rearward bats. It was then that an independent squadron would come around and viciously attack the duo. They didn't try the same tactic again.

"Come on down here you pigs!" Duke managed to gasp out as a last ditch effort to try and intimidate the rats with wings. FF sighed slightly before outdistancing her fiend and with a flying leap, latched onto the distressed dealer's pant leg. Acting as dead weight with little cooperation on the part of the dealer, she managed to get them to sink closer to the ground with their combined weight. And there was Duke, ready to catch them both. This resulted in a maddening knot of limbs in which time the bats decided to fly away sullenly. The dealer, the first to disentangle himself, ran away before he showed any sign of gratitude.

"Hey! Wait a minute! Come back and have a beer!" Duke called.

"Aw, I'm gonna' miss him." FF frowned, "I need a chocolate orange, can you pass my case?"

"Case? I left them back at the hotel!"

The Fearless Fiend gave an anguished moan, "Aw, _Duke_! I thought _you_ were in charge of the cases!"

Duke sighed, not relishing the thought of a boring trip back to the hotel without a sniff, snort, swallow or lick of _something_ out of his case. 5 blocks was entirely too far. Piggy squeaked in sympathy as Fishy glubbed in agreement. It was then that Piggy gave a squeal comparable to his (more commonly known) namesake. It was a flying case! The Vegas afterglow glinted off the metallic lining and snaps; it looked _awfully_ familiar...

Duke chewed on his cigarette holder in thought and a little bit of the Fear. FF, candyette holder lodged firmly in the corner of her mouth, did likewise. Piggy dove into and huddled in FF's coat pocket. The mystic case was now hovering above the Fiend and her fiend with no hint as to the nature of its preternatural flying abilities. Neither of them had the time to get on top of what happened next.

"Duke?"

"What the-...? What the -!"

"DUKE!"

"I wasn't going to swear!"

"Duke, get back down here!"

"It's the winds of the great Magnet! I can't defy him!"

"NO!!! _DUKE_!"

The Doctor of Journalism was floating just as mysteriously as his infamous black case. He had no means of getting down and whatever was keeping him aloft showed no sign of changing its mind.

FF again tried leaping in desperation, jarring Piggy into an inelegant flight. It was then, amid the shouts, chaos and general freak-out that the 'force' revealed itself to be very fuzzy.

"ARG!!! No, it's the bats! You can't _do_ this, you swine!" Duke cried between bouts of laughter from the ticklish bat fuzz against his exposed stomach. Unfortunately, even with aid of her flyswatter, FF just wasn't tall enough to swat the buggers into oblivion. So the bats flew away with Duke and his case unchallenged.

"It just isn't possible," FF sniffed, "My Johnny's been Johnny-napped!"

The campfire in front of the teepee was bright enough to see for several yards in all directions. Raphael was huddled around the blaze to keep warm, for it was his turn to keep watch that night. He glanced back at the darkened entrance of the teepee and felt a wave of sadness wash over him at the sight of his dear Symbolic Sacrifice sleeping with a duck clutched tight in her arms.

"You look like my Angel, a living, breathing doll," he murmured. "When did we drift apart?" If he expected answer, he was really very surprised when he heard a sleep muddled voice reach his sharp ears.

"Raphael? What's wrong, blossom?"

"Nothing, nothing," Raphael shook his head and returned his gaze to the orange fire. He didn't want to have a confrontation mar the eve before his departure for the island. They'd both discussed Raphael's leaving before... before Raphael found he could no longer stand to share his Angel with some foppish man who played with spoons. He wasn't a jealous man, really. He just didn't like to see his family torn apart. SS was his family.

"You're brooding again."

"No I'm not," Raphael shrugged, his back still turned towards the teepee. There was some quiet grumbling before SS plopped down beside her primary Johnny, all wrapped up in furs to keep warm. She was still holding the duckie.

"No, you never brood unless something is seriously troubling you. Now do I have to wheedle it out of you or will you be willing to tell me?"

"I don't want you to be unhappy SS," Raphael whispered.

"When you're unhappy, I'm unhappy. It works both ways," SS pointed out.

"But you love James. Why don't you get a transfer and-..."

SS cut him off before he could finish the macabre thought. "I don't want a transfer. That's why I gave James up."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because, because. And you aren't getting anything better than that tonight."

"I suppose I should be grateful," Raphael mumbled.

"Only if you honestly feel grateful. I'm going back to sleep, blossom. Please, please try not to take it all too personally?"

"Maybe."

"Oh blossom," SS hugged him fiercely, but briefly before returning to the cave. She didn't want to impose her presence on him right now, knowing where he stood on the James debate. Only time would tell.

Raphael wasn't there when she woke up the next morning.

Donnie Brasco was finishing up his last set of reps when Bella wandered into the living room.

"Hey, Donnie. I thought you said you were out of the mafia business," she asked, puzzled.

"I am, why do you ask?" Donnie's face was a mixture of fear and confusion. If he was going to be involved in another incident like the one he was in with Lefty, he would sooner end it before it began.

"There's some guy on the phone asking for you by Donnie, not Joe. I sure hope you know what this is about."

"I can assure you that I don't."

"Then come on in here and answer it so we can both get a better idea about what's going on."

Donnie sighed, seeing no way out and plucked the portable phone out of his Angel's hand.

"Hello?"

"This Donnie Brasco?"

"No, ah... Donnie ain't around no more."

"Oh stop, I know it's you. I was merely being polite is all."

"Who is this?"

"You wouldn't know me, but I'm going to be picking you up for a rollicking adventure you'll never forget. I just figured I'd call first, let you know I'm coming and that I'm behind schedule, so you'd better be ready when I get there."

"Say what?"

"Pack your belongings and be on the car in 10 minutes, all right? You won't be around for more than a month, so get cracking. Chop, chop!"

The line went dead and Donnie stared at Bella.

"Fruit?"

Bella shrugged.

"He sounded adamant about it."

"If you think you want to do it, then go ahead. Maybe it'll be good to get you away from those confounded weight machines for a little while."

"Well, if you insist..."

"Donnie, don't pin this on me," Bella pecked her street savvy Johnny on the cheek. "Now if you truly want to do this, I'd say get a move on, before that guy shows up."

"I guess I want to do this," Donnie snorted, trying to set the whirlwind events in perspective. It seemed he was going on a trip without his Angel, and it'd be for awhile. Well, he wasn't FBI for nothing, was he?

"Where are my good luck boxers?"

"Oh, Sam, I'm so excited for you! You're going to have so much fun with all the other Johnnies!" Rollie grinned happily as she packed Sam an iron and two tennis rackets, lest one decide to break in the harsh wilderness.

Sam seemed the more apprehensive of the two, with good reason. 39 days without the comforts of old movies, tapioca _and_ plastic silverware? Oh he could just shudder at the thought! But he wouldn't, he refused to. He'd do it for Rollie.

"Look! The iron works on batteries! As long as you have a lot, you can make grilled anything on a piece of wood or a flat rock!" Rollie made sure to pack extra batteries.

"I can't wait," Sam smiled slightly, happy to see his Angel so enthusiastic. He could believe that if given half a chance, his Angel would be engaged in her favorite activity: rolling.

"Sam, you're going to do great! You're so sweet and charming; the other Johnnies will love you!" Rollie spared a quick hug and peck on the cheek for her blushing Johnny before continuing her bustle about the apartment. Gosh he loved her.

"I'll try my best," Sam nodded, his smile widening even more.

"Just have fun, luv! Don't worry about the competition. Just get out there and make friends with the other Johnnies. Who knows? Maybe we'll have some new poker buddies to play with!" Rollie's complexion flushed slightly as she thought of several Johnnies in the same room playing poker. It was almost too good to be true! But there would only be one for her; he was the most adorable, sweet, funny and charming one of them all.

Sam found he didn't have an answer to that passion, so he simply watched as a pair of suspenders and his top hat went into the suitcase next. At last, his darling Angel had thought of everything; she remembered to pack a full set of plastic silverware complete with soup spoon and fish fork. He could just kiss her.

"Rollie, I... I love you," he said quietly. That was the point of no return for poor Dances With Rolls. She just up and fainted after a little squeal of happiness. Sam contained a snort of laughter and propped her up in his arms on the floor.

"I love it when you say that, Sam! I love you too!" she smiled happily.

"I would like to serenade you on the floor... but I'm afraid my arms are falling asleep," Sam blushed.

"Ask and ye shall receive, luv! This calls for a celebration!" Rollie announced after climbing back up to her feet with a nice bruise to show for her swoonfulness.

"My last grilled cheese sandwiches for a whole month," he uttered, more than a little bewildered. He was really going away for a little over a month. It was happening so fast and... and it would be a good chance to have some exotic fun.

An hour later, after the dishwasher was devoid of crabs and dishes, the doorbell rang. It was Sam's ride, in an incredibly cranky mood.

"You're the last individual one and I'd really like to move this along here. Can you keep this to a small goodbye peck? You'll be saving me an awful lot of grief."

Rollie simply couldn't oblige. She grabbed Sam tightly and hugged for all she was worth whilst managing to share several long and passionate kisses.

"I'll miss you Sam, don't give up!" she called as he was led down the stairs and outside to the idling vehicle and driven off to an exciting journey.

DB's bio thread was a positive bustle of activity. There were people of all sorts come to see off their Johnnies, including some who had been in this sketch previously. There were sidekicks, and foster angels and angels in waiting crowded together to form the rowdiest send off crew you ever did see.

"I'll take care of your horse Cesar, you can count on me. Gonzo will help, won't you, Gonzo?" RGJ turned to her own equine companion with a loving gaze. Cesar's own mount whinnied happily to be left to the ministrations of her master's soon to be Angel. Cesar hugged RGJ in fond farewell.

"I promise to return shortly," he nodded. Nothing much more really needed to be said between the two of them.

"Bon-bon, you'd better behave yourself, you hear me?" Arenas tried to give the transvestite her best evil eye only wind up in a little ball on the floor laughing harder than she ever had before. Bon-bon simply huffed.

"I'm sorry, I really am," the flushed Angel bit her lip, "I see that you're packing awfully light. Are you sure you won't need more stuff?"

"My important possessions are stored where it counts," Bon-bon managed to look even more dignified and poised. Arenas simply couldn't handle the strain of following her own advice and behaving. She managed to squeeze Bon-bon's shoulder as a last goodbye, and strode out of DB's thread before she could embarrass herself further. Unbeknownst to her, Gabriel had a red heart on his LCD monitor.

It was FF's turn to say adios to her fostered Johnny, Tobey.

"Now none of that swearing, okay? If... if..." FF managed to calm herself down, "If you see Duke, you're both to sensor each other, do you hear me? And SJ will probably need some encouragement too."

"Oh FF, I can't-..."

"Yes you can. Here, I'll send Fishy along. Duke never was fond of Piggy, but you can put Fishy to work and if you ever get lonely, you can give him a kiss."

"That was just one time, FF-..."

Fishy glubbed in agreement.

"Get on you two, before I change my mind, you hear me! Must... write... fanfiction... to... alleviate... sorrow!" FF sniffled. AJB perked up upon hearing that announcement and stored that away for future reference.

"It's okay Intrépida, they'll both be back before you know it," DB clapped a companionable hand on her former Angelkick's shoulder.

"I know, but I never even got to say goodbye to Duke, wherever he is," FF whimpered.

"Never fear, FF! My sensors detect that Duke is alive and well with the rest of the Johnnies," Gabe beamed happily.

"Really? I could kiss you, Gabe!"

"Maybe just a little one," the computer blushed.

"Gabe!" DB cried.

"Or not," he immediately added, chagrined.

Nearby, both AA and ILA were sharing similar farewells with their chosen Johnnies.

"I'm sorry I haven't gotten to bond with you much yet, Gilbert, but I promise when you get back we'll do lots of stuff together. Is that okay?" AA asked.

"It sounds wonderful. Can you hold down the fort when I'm gone?" Gilbert seemed reluctant either to leave, or to ask that of his Angel to be. Perhaps both, as were he not leaving, he wouldn't have to ask.

"Don't worry, Gilbert. I can do it. Take care of yourself and concentrate on doing the best you can. You'll do great because you're Gilbert," AA gave Gilbert a last squeeze around his midsection. Gilbert returned the gesture before going to join the other unAngeled, but seen-off Johnnies.

"Axel, don't get yourself hurt, okay? I love you far too much, if it wasn't very obvious," ILA engaged Axel in a sort of staring contest that neither person won.

"They way I understand it, it'll be an island. There will be lots of fish that will make sure I don't get too far out of it. I hope I can understand their dialect..." Axel paused thoughtfully as he analyzed the differences between a southern Pacific fish and an Alaskan fish.

"I bet you will. Just listen like you always do and you'll be fine. And no matter what the other Johnnies say, you're better than all of them. You're a dreamer" ILA grinned. Axel dignified that with several chicken clucks. ILA giggled, and gave him a quick kiss.

"I'll see you soon, Mr. Blackmar, and if you want to talk, I'll be sure to listen."

"Soon enough," Axel's head was still bowed from the kiss.

"Go on now, go have fun," ILA laughed pushing him gently towards the rest of the group. The only 2 Johnnies still sharing touching moments were Spencer and Ichabod.

"Now Spencer, you can't go being the evil alien everybody knows you are. Maybe if you were nice every once in awhile, people wouldn't expect the worst, y'know?" RB was trying to patiently explain the virtues of being good to Spencer Armacost.

"But that's not fun," Spencer spared a disgusted look for the thought of being 'good' on a trip that was obviously meant to be sinful in every way.

"Okay, I'll make a deal. Since only all of JA will be keeping tabs of your movements, as long as you don't try and kill or turn everybody on the island into creepy aliens, I'll be happy. Is that fair?"

"You're a peach," Spencer grinned, agreeing full heartedly. A little mischief never hurt anybody. And from what he'd heard, that Shooter guy was going to be on the island too! What great fun! Ichabod didn't share these sentiments.

"But Sarah... there are going to be so many other men there. It's simply not the place for a person of my tastes. Why can't I back out now?"

"Because it's too late, Ichabod. You should have said something earlier," Sarah smiled sadly at her distressed Johnny.

"But I _did_ say something earlier and nobody listened to me!" Ichabod wailed.

"What are you afraid of, Ichy?" Sarah asked, calling him by his pet name.

"I don't want to bond with men who smell like sweat and scratch themselves and belch and pass gas! I am a _scientist_!"

"Then study why men feel the need to scratch themselves and pass gas when they gather in large groups. Won't that be and interesting study?" Sarah had to stifle a grin. Ichabod wasn't amused.

"Not in the slightest. I _like_ dissecting DB's lasagna. It was safe and was almost like blood."

"How about you go and be the team chef? You can decapitate all sorts of interesting animals, get squirted in the face by their blood and at the same time, perform scientific experiments to decide what they taste best with. Be positive, Ichy; it'll be fun!"

"Oh all right. But only because you want me to," Ichabod sighed unhappily. Sarah wrapped her arms around his shoulders to reassure him.

"I love you, you know. And no matter what happens, you'll always be my favorite. Try to go easy on the other Johnnies, won't you?"

"As if I'm the one that needs that encouragement," he rolled his eyes.

"Okay, folks! All the Johnnies into the VW minibus!" DB called over the din of last minute partings. AJB kept watch over Johnnies that were attempting to escape and managed to apprehend a grand total of 3. A flock of Johnnies moved over to the tie dye minibus (the only thing the Survivor people could afford on such short notice) and clamored inside. The bus backfired and puttered off as the party in DB's bio thread slowly died down and people returned to their respective training and bio threads.

"This is absolutely the last time we host a going away party in here," AJB muttered darkly at the sight of the mess in its wake. Gabriel gave a sort of electronic shrug and DB flicked away a candyette.

"Makes you almost miss the 'kicks, doesn't it?"


	2. Getting there is half the fun

**Title:** Johnny Survivor

**Rating:** PG

**Summary: **The twisted brainchild of a weirdo in desperate need of new ideas for writing material. Lucky story doesn't know what hit it. What happens when Johnny Depp in a good deal of his incarnations get stuck on an island to play... well... Survivor? And more important... when those incarnations' Angels spur me on to greatness (cough)? We're on the island, kiddies! Be ready to vote!

**Author's Notes:** For those of you out there who have no idea where I and my ideas are coming from, I can't say I know half the time. All I can do is namedrop Johnny's Angels and maybe you'll get a better scope on things. Doubt it, but maybe. If you're into Johnny Depp in general, it's a fine community. Call it a shameless plug. It's got a roster of the teams and info on who these people are among other things. Anyway, on with Chapter 2.

**Chapter 2- Getting there is half the fun**

---**It is truly a miracle** of cinematic proportions. 16 different manifestations of Johnny Depp alive and well sitting huddled aboard a private yacht. Everyone has been designated a team, though they've been firmly instructed not to interact with each other until show time. Bingo.

"All right, Survivors! You have made it through a rigorous acceptance process!"

Ichabod scoffed.

"You have suffered through tearful and traumatic goodbyes!"

Duke shuddered.

"You are about to embark on one of the most extraordinary experiences of your lives, gentlemen! You are going to find out first hand what it's like to survive on an island with minimal food, clean water and the constant fear of knowing that at any moment, your life can be in danger!"

Tobey gulped.

"Both groups have the same objects! Enough rice to last you until the merger if rationed correctly! A magnifying glass! A machete! A water proof container! 2 water jugs and an inflatable raft! On my mark, both teams will jump out of the boat and climb into their rafts. They will swim to shore and using the map stored in the waterproof container, you will follow it to your campsite! The winners will earn a chance to raid the loser's campsites. Time is of the element! Survivors! Are you ready? Go!"

**Hahaga Tribe**

---**The sharp shrill whistle blasted** through the calm Pacific air and the assembled 'Survivors' stared at each other blankly, wondering if they really wanted to go swimming. It was Captain Jack who shrugged and dove neatly into the water. Naturally, male testosterone dictates that no man shall be shown up as long as he is capable, so the contestants made their way into the water slowly but surely. Eventually, only Edward was left on the boat...

"C'mon, mate, jes dive on in!" Jack called up, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun.

"I can't," Edward shook his head.

"Mate, we have t'get t'the island! Jump in!" Jack tried a last attempt to reason with the timid Johnny. Again, Edward wouldn't budge.

"Listen, are you a... er... what are you?" Sands blinked, trying to reason out a way to get in his favorite catch phrase. Edward clearly wasn't a Mexican and if he assumed American, he could rationalize that he didn't want to get on the wrong end of those scissors.

"Jump out of the boat and we shall catch you!" Bon-bon offered, batting his overlarge eyelashes.

"The raft!" Cesar cried, gesticulating at the lumpy package atop the floating collection of provisions. The Survivors already soaked through their comfortable clothes managed to wrestle the canary yellow raft under the boat.

"Jump, shearhead!" Duke called up, squinting against the sun reflected off the choppy seas.

"Scissors up!" Fred yelled as Edward was about to fall off without a care in the world. Edward had to quickly pinwheel his arms to regain his balance. If he popped the raft, he'd be even worse off than when he had started. So he turned around, and fell backwards into the rubber craft , causing the water to ripple from the impact. As soon as Edward was settled, the rest of the Hahaga tribe climbed into the raft and sought out the 2 oars that had been provided.

"Ready mates? I've got _'sperience_ in these matters. I'll be rowin' first. Any of ye can join me when ye'd like. We've got some catchin' up t'do," Jack smirked as he brandished an oar at the rest of the assembled crew. And with that parting shot, Jack began to paddle. Sands shrugged, seeing nobody else jump for the other oar, and took it up himself. They had a lot of ocean to cover very fast.

**Inaga Tribe**

---**The Inaga Tribe jettisoned off** the side of the yacht easy enough, if not for the slight trouble by one of the more tricksy teammates. Spencer immediately began to freak right out.

"I _hate_ water! Oh, God, it _burns_!" he screamed, flailing like mad. Not that he didn't have a reasonable explanation, but it was more than a little nerve wracking for his more gentle-natured teammates.

"Get in the rat, Spencer, c'mon," Donne growled as he shoved the alien aboard. He suffered a fist to the eye for his troubles while Spencer lay gasping for breath as the bottom of the raft. Gilbert climbed in next, followed by Sam, Raphael, Tobey, Ichabod, Donnie and lastly axel, who felt the need to seek out some distant Pacific cousin of the halibut. It had been Tobey who had grasped Axel by the shirt collar and hauled him up.

"All right, guys. Everytime someone gets tired, they hand their oar to another teammate, okay?" Donnie announced, trying to bring order to their motley crew.

"Give me an oar," Gilbert said quietly, holding his hand out expectantly.

"Okay, Gilbert and I will take the first shift. Ready? One, two, three, row!" Donnie called. He began to dig the wooden paddle into the surf, both he and Gilbert getting the raft to gain speed. And so Inaga was off, leaving Hahaga in the metaphorical dust.

**Hahaga**

---**The host's last words rankled** with the second place tribe. The winning team gets to raid the loser's camp. And it wasn't looking good for Hahaga.

"I don't want that-"Duke paused, remembering FF's penchant for not swearing. "I don't want that oar."

"Duke, there's only so much rowing I can f-"

"Hey, watch it, swine! If I can't swear, you definitely can't," Duke growled at Sands who was impatiently trying to dump the oar off on him.

"Rules are made to be broken, chico," Sands didn't bite.

"Mates, I can't do _all_ the bleedin rowin' by my onsies. One o' ye scaborous dogs better pick up that oar before I wring yer worthless neck." There was a collective glance of surprise mingled with fear for the sun-bake pirate captain. It was Bon-bon who had inadvertently broke the tension and found the perfect solution.

"I think there is something in your pocket," Bon-bon smiled lazily as (s)he brushed a collaoused hand against Mort's rear. The mild writer gasped in surprise and slapped at the other... man's?... hand.

"I-I don't swing that way," Mort shied away, confusion apparent on his pallid face.

"Mate, there _is_ something in yer pocket!" Captain Jack pointed. "Be honest, are ye holdin' out on us?"

"What? No! All I've got in her is a stick of gum!" to prove his innocence, Mort reached behind him and dug around before giving a yank. It was an oar. Jack cocked an eyebrow and Mort had the decency to blush.

"I... ah... didn't know that was in there."

Sands rolled his eyes. "Listen, I've been on enough Cantina adventures to know what's what. You've got a magic pocket. I'd like very much for you to reach back in that and pull out 5-..." he glanced at Edward, "scratch that, 4 more oars, before I lose all the feeling in my arms, savvy?"

"I like yer choice of words, mate," Jack flashed a golden smile.

"I'll do it!" Bon-bon cried happily. There was an immediate flurry of head shaking and hand waving to dissuade the pretty-in-pink transvestite from his objective.

"I've got it, thanks," Mort nodded weakly and began to extract another oar. The first pocket paddle was padded to Abberline who began to keep tempo, if only for motivation. Duke was last to recive an oar out of sheer stubbornness.

The Hahaga Tribe, now under the man power of 7, soon overtook the Inaga Tribe with their primitive, two man rowing system. 5 minutes later, all of Hahaga dumped onto the beach with cheers of excitement. All that was left was finding their camp and with Inaga still out at sea, victory was certain. The host was air-lifted to Hahaga's site to greet the heroes on their own turf marked by the green Hahaga banner.

"Congratulations, Hahaga. You have earned the right to raid Inaga's camp in a 5 minutes spree. You may take whatever you want, but only what you can carry in one trip. You will do this in 1 day, to give the other tribe time to build there camp and have something to actually raid. I will be seeing you all again and until then, rest, enjoy the scenery. Congratulations. Go set yourselves up with some shelter, too. You'll be needing it."

**Inaga**

**---"Well... we've got the option** of not building shelter or unpacking," Gilbert mused whilst sitting on the edge of the raft. The team had dragged it with them to their new place of lodging: a circular clearing surrounded by trees. There was a clean, fresh water stream skirting the edge of the site, but if one wanted to wash themselves, they had to walk the 2 minutes to the ocean's edge. It wasn't a bad site, but Inaga didn't want to fave what would happen when Hahaga got a hold of it.

Spencer was still in a bad mood from his ordeal with the water. He found that he didn't have the strength to come up with a proper barb and instead settled for rolling his eyes. Humans were so dense. "Hide the stuff."

Ichabod's brows furrowed, "Hide the stuff?"

"Very observant, Sherlock," Spencer replied dryly. "Hide it so they can't find it."

"Well, guys, since we haven't got anything better to work with. Let's get to work," Donnie announced, his jaw set determinedly.

**Spencer**

**---"We've been on this island** for 30 minutes, and already I want to kill Ichabod. He's so... so... by the book! He has it out for me. Maybe it's the paranoia talking, but I doubt it. Anyone that scientific is usually out to get me. I'm keeping an eye on him. Heck... I'll probably make it 2 and let someone else worry about them cheeky natives."

**Raphael**

**---"I never actually thought I'd** have an issue with leaving. I thought I'd done alright by bother of us, but... I'm starting to have doubts. I think I'm actually getting homesick and... I would have liked a goodbye kiss. No, I know I can't drop out now, but maybe this month won't last too long and I'll be able to win something. Make amends and so forth. Spencer's going to give me a time of it though, he seems like the kind of person to want to get under your skin. I'll reserve judgment, but... I don't think I like him a whole lot."

**Hahaga**

**---"We need a fire, don't** we?" Mort thought aloud.

"Why don't I pull one out of your magic pocket?" Bon-bon asked innocently. Mort shot Bon-bon a glare and instead turned toward the rest of the tribe.

"Well?"

"I had matches, but they're pretty useless now," Sands shrugged. There was a low groan before Abberline had the first inspirational idea.

"Rub sticks together?"

"Aye! That should do it!" Jack cried.

"Well? What are we waiting for? It's getting cold and it might keep the bats at bay," Duke pointed at the sky. The next 5 minutes were useless for tribe spirits.

"Rub faster, faster, faster! Faster Abberline!"

"I can't... _go_... any faster," Fred's breaths were coming in short gasps. His already tired and abused arms were pumping quickly, trying to work the smoking stick a little faster.

"Oh my... stars," Sands grumbled with a sour look for Duke and his no vulgarity policy. "If you can't get this going, someone else better try. I need a cigarette."

"If your matches don't work, why would your cigarettes?" Cesar glances at the moody agent, no malice apparent in his question.

"I usually plan for the inevitable," Sands replied, pulling out a plastic, water-tight case and tapping it.

"So what you're saying is that swimming in your pants is inevitable... so you save your cigarettes, but not a means to light up." It was Mort's turn to interrogate.

"So I forgot to get a matchbook and used my reserve stash only to neglect to restock. It happens," he shrugged. Hahaga moaned in frustration and returned their attentions to Fred's fevered attempts to start a cook fire.

"A spark!" Jack cried, leaning in to coax the little ember higher. The spark wanted no part of the ordeal and died out again. It was about then that Fred sighed in frustration and simply curled up on his side in the still warm sand.

"I-... I can't go it anymore. I'm beat," he panted. Everybody felt their morale droop a little, despite their earlier victory.

"Well... we can steal fire from them tomorrow. What's a little fasting among friends, aye?" Jack asked. Sands winced; he wanted, no _needed_ that cigarette. Mort wasn't too far behind on that front.

Edward, sensing the mood, began to prod the wood, hoping to turn over something of importance. His index scissor became firmly lodged in the log and he had to look around wildly for help. Cesar managed to unstuck the poor, timid Johnny before trying to help come up with some solutions for their cooking problem. As it was, it wouldn't be until tomorrow that they'd taste their first batch of rice.

**Fred**

**---"Sands is... a live wire**. I don't trust him as far as I can pick him up and throw him. He's too well prepared. He's like some kind of... Boy Scout from Hell. I'm watching him. He has cigarettes but no matches? Too suspicious. He'd better be careful these next couple of days."

**Sands**

**---"I knew what I was** up against when I signed up for this shindig, but I hadn't seen my lighter getting abducted by some stupid fish. I probably could have prevented the match incident, but be serious. Even CIA agents don't always think straight. I think I tweaked quite a few of my teammates today which really doesn't bother me. This is trivial. I'll redeem myself where it counts, mark my words."

**Jack**

**---"Where's the rum!?"**

**Inaga**

**---"It's only a matter of **time before they descend on us like vultures," Tobey murmured. He spared a quick look for the rapidly setting sun and gave a sigh.

"I wonder what time it is back home," Raphael sounded as though he were becoming more homesick by the hour. It simply wasn't his nature to blow off his family like that.

"The clock's probably still half an hour fast," Ichabod rolled his eyes.

"No, they fixed that," Same spoke quickly before Spencer had a chance to offer a scathing rebuttal. Their camp was as bare as it had been when they'd first washed ahore with the exception of a glowing fire. It was Raphael's skill that had caused the small area to light up with a bright orange light. So their makeshift utensils and bowls were scrubbed with sands in the stream and buried with their rice under a rock.

"I suggest we turn in early. It's going to be a long day tomorrow," Donnie yawned. The idea of sleeping before the sun went down appalled him, but he'd have to sacrifice his off kilter circadian rhythm to get the most out of himself this next month. He wanted to be on top of whatever came down on him.

"I'll keep first watch to prevent danger," Raphael announced and shifted his log to get a better view of the still darkening landscape. A moai's beatific eyes also kept watch over Inaga.

**Hahaga- Night**

**---"It's too freakin' cold!" Duke** growled, already pining for the neon Vegas skyline and warm desert winds. Pacific or not, Rapa Nui lost heat at night. Heat Duke, in his shorts and Acapulco shirt, couldn't cope without.

Hahaga as a whole wasn't fairing well. Captain Jack Sparrow was mourning the lack of alcohol based drinking products and Sands found himself twitching and seeking out invisible, nicotine enemies. Mort seemed to be having conversations with himself despite Bon-bon's attempts at communication. Fred and Cesar had sectioned themselves off to discuss further plans as Edward sat away from the madness all alone. Were the Hahaga survivors bent on normalcy, they probably would have felt bad for poor Edward. As it was, they were privately waging their own battle for sanity.

"It's too freakin' cold!" Duke felt the need to reiterate this as he compulsively clutched at his slowly freezing arms.

"It looks as though we may need to conserve our energy and heat," Bon-bon suggested. There was a slow moment as the 7 people turned to look at him. Her.

"What 'sactly are ye suggestin', mate?" Jack asked.

"We must huddle together for warmth!"

Several mouths gaped to protest, but nothing came out. They were positively shell-shocked. Nobody could come up with an argument for or against the proposition.

"It's settled! I call Morton!" Bon-bon whooped with glee. He grabbed Mort around the middle and tackled him to the ground. Mort had no time to react and wound up under the enthusiastic drag queen.

"Help me," he mouthed. Duke, uncaring of the means to get his blessed heat, curled up on the other side of Bon-bon, wrapping his arms around his/her waist. Jack soon followed not to be left out and eventually, the whole tribe was wrapped around each other (with Edward on the end, of course). While it was unorthodox, it was very effective. Duke found himself nodding off between the pirate captain and transvestite. It was sands who laid down the law between yawns.

"This... n-n...ever leaaaaaaaaaaaaves camp. Can you... dig it?"

There was a general murmur of assent before they fell asleep hungry and tired, but warm.

**Hahaga- Morning**

**---Sands heard the creature long** before he saw it. The grass was rustling loudly and he thought he could pick up snatches of human speech. His first thought wasn't that he might be killed. It was that they'd catch him spooning an inspector. He scrambled up, grateful his clothes were still on, and reached for a gun that was no longer there. He'd forgotten that they'd been confiscated and cursed every person working for Survivor in his mind. So he grabbed a stick and advanced on the source of the stumbling.

"Oh, _ouch_! Gabe, you could have warned me about that!"

Sands eyebrows drew together. That shout was awfully familiar.

"I'm sorry, DB, the satellite connection is about 2 seconds slower than you sound. Ah, I see the tricky log now. I don't believe you stepped over it, did you? You may have to go a bit slower so I can keep track of you better."

"There's no time, I've gotta find Raphael!"

"DB?" Sands asked tentatively. The figure he'd come up behind whipped around and had a gun trained on him. "Uh, excuse me, but I believe you know me. And if you don't, I'll be sorely disappointed with you."

"SJ? How'd you find me? And where am I, for that matter?"

"You're outside Hahaga camp, why'd you ask? Why'd you come all the way here, anyway? It can't have been cheap."

"Maravilla sent it via Western Union for plot progression. Amazing how she got that much money so fast but... I guess I shouldn't think too hard on that."

"No, I really don't think that'd be a smart move," Sands agreed.

"This wouldn't be Raphael's team, wouldn't it?"

"Nope, sorry, sugarbutt. Other tribe."

"Gabe, what happened?"

The computer somehow managed to sound sheepish, "Hahaga you say? Hahaga's green?"

Sands displayed the green Survivor buff tied around his upper arm.

"So... that would make Inaga orange... wouldn't it?"

DB sighed, before reaching for Sands. "Well, I guess I'll go back to trekking the island, seeing the sights, and making Raphael repent and all. Try not to shoot anybody-..."

"Can't," Sands' jaw twitched.

"I'd offer you a candyette if I thought it'd help. It sounds like you need one-..."

"Or two or three. I'll take a whole pack if you can spare it," he gave a lopsided smile to hide his tension.

"If it'll spare Cesar and Bon-bon from some diabolical plot, I'd be more than happy to spare them. Before you get huffy, they're still my charges and I've gotta' take care of them for RGJ and another sidekick. No hard feelings?" DB asked while holding the candyettes where she thought was out of reach. Sands rolled his eyes and plucked the pack out of her hand as he planted a kiss on her cheek.

"None taken. Now, vamos before you're discovered. I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to be here, no matter how much chaos I'd like to create."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you, SJ," DB grinned. Before a second had passed, Gabe was back and ready to guide the OPS Angel back through the wilderness with the aid of a faster satellite.

**Donnie**

**---"I'm not looking forward to** this. Not at all. It's almost a little degrading, not being able to start camp because you know you're going to be raided. Granted, it's better than getting taken by surprise but it still doesn't make me feel better. Maybe I'm pessimistic? I hope not.

**Inaga**

**--- The green Hahaga tribe trooped** over the last ridge and into Donnie's line of sight. He glanced back at his half-asleep orange tribe and struggled to keep an emotionless countenance. A heartening fact was the slightly haggard look of the other 8 survivors and the nervous tics they'd developed seemingly overnight.

"Alright, Hahaga! You've got 5 minutes, on my mark. Go!" the host called from atop his position over-looking the camp. There were hidden reserves of strength that made the tribe leap forward like feral lions: every last one of them for the fire.

"5 torches will last. C'mon, c'mon, hurry, we've got 4 minutes," Sands snapped.

"Will everybody _please_ stop telling me to hurry?" Fred grumbled as he rubbed a blister on his palm.

"There's nothing here!"

"What?"

"There's nothing _here_!"

"Can't be!"

Hahaga was stumped. There was nothing worth taking in sight. It looked like the other team hadn't even gotten the energy to do anything. They'd simply admitted defeat and to spite the other tribe, decided to not establish themselves. But why were some of them trying patiently to look away and avoid eye contact? Where were the provisions they landed with?

"Time! Hahaga! You will return to your camp and deposit what you found. Doesn't look like much, does it? You're going to have to make do. At least you've got fire, right? Head on back guys, we'll see you again before too long."

**Abberline**

**---"Something really wasn't right about** that raid today. They should have had something set up by them. It doesn't make any sense. Probably just as well we only had 5 minutes or I would have torn the place apart to figure out what was wrong with it. I have a sneaking suspicion they hid their possessions, but no proof. It's over. I can't say I'm proud, but it's done.

**Spencer**

**---"Told you it'd work, Ichy."**

**Hahaga**

**---The tribe made it back to **their camp with only 2 torches losing their precious flames. Before too long, there was a roaring fire and happy cheers all around.

"I _love_ bonfires, drinks all around!" Jack cried.

The team cooked up a vat of rice and celebrated as best they could with their measley provisions. Since they'd lost a meal already, it was perhaps more plentiful than it normally would have been. At any rate, spirits were high among the Hahaga troop. It was when Cesar left to walk off a feeling of lethargy that the team cleaned up and set to work on a shelter of their own. They didn't want to have a repeat of last night, no matter how many rabid fangirls believed in it. The thatched roof was up and mud was being added to keep out the rain when Cesar returned.

"We've got Moai-mail," he announced, holding up a little envelope.

"Moai-mail?" Mort asked, not liking the implications.

"No trees. Can't have tree-mail without trees. They hit rock bottom and went with the Moai theme instead," Sands rolled his eyes, starting on the 5th candyette of the day.

"What does it say?" Edward decided to add to the conversation for the first time that day. Truth be told, his team mates scared them more than a little.

"It looks like the first of many immunity challenges."

"Give it here," Duke gestured for the piece of leather. Cesar passed it and Duke began to read: _You've been here for a total of 2 days/ And it's hoped you've got your own blaze/ For fire is life/ More essential than your knife/ You'll need it to Survive these next few days_.

"Sounds like a fire challenge," Mort mused.

"Think we can prepare?" Fred asked.

"I doubt it. No knives. Fire. Can probably practice running with fire if you wanted," Sands shrugged, ever the nonchalant figure.

"It's tomorrow. I think we may want to keep this 'Early to bed, early to rise,' schtick," Mort nodded. Bon-bon huffed. Mort twitched.

"No guarantees," Duke refused to accept these early nights tamely. He had managed to convince himself that he'd go by hypothermia and he refused to fall asleep.

"Th'mud's dry, mate. No need to worry about moisture or lack of heat in there," Jack shook his head proudly, having aided in its construction. Fred had directed, unable to do much more than hold things in place, and Edward had assisted in the cutting of various items.

"Then let's turn in now. We don't really know what to expect. We've got to stay on top of it," Cesar said quietly. Assorted grumbles later found Hahaga spread out in separate areas of their shelter wearing considerably more than they had last night.

**Inaga- Morning**

**--- "All right guys, move out,"** Donnie pointed to a remote area on the horizon where the challenge was going to be held. Inaga had eaten their morning rice and were currently getting ready to hike over hilly terrain.

"We're ready back here," Gilbert waved on behalf of Ichabod, Raphael, and Sam. Axel, Tobey, Spencer and Donnie were up front to set the pace. It was an uneventful nature walk to the clearing. It was somewhat intimidating, looking upon a sort of obstacle course that was half on land and half in the water. Hahaga had just arrived, looking considerably better than yesterday.

"All right tribes, I take it you got your mail. Here's the deal. You've all got fire by now. Fire, as it said in your letters, is life. You need it to survive. That's why this challenge is so symbolic. Your tribes will, in groups of 2, race this torch through the obstacle course. If, at any time, it should go out, you must return to the beginning. The first 2 pairs will run over logs while avoiding buckets of water and run it to the next teams groups. The second group will scramble up this cargo netting and slide down the rope and run it to the beach. The third group will swim it to the floating platform where the last 2 pairs are who will swim it back and run it up to the towers where wood is already stacked. The first team whose fire burns through the rope and raises their flag wins immunity! Survivors, get to your marks!"

Minutes passed until each Johnny was stationed at the intervals along the course. Edward and Bon-bon representing Hahaga, Sam and Ichabod for Inaga first, Fred and Cesar, Spencer and Gilbert second, Mort and Duke, Axel and Tobey third, and Jack and Sands, Raphael and Donnie running the last leg.

"Survivors, are you ready? Go!"

It was Edward and Sam who ran the torches while Bon-bon and Ichabod tried their hardest to prevent the fire from sputtering. Bon-bon had produced some sort of cloth from who knows where (though it was guaranteed not to be pleasant) and held it above the flame while Ichabod simply tried to huddle over it as best he could. It took several tries for both teams before Inaga made it past through intense cooperation.

"Forget the handkerchief, run you two!" Fred called impatiently as he watched Spencer climb agilely up the rope with little thought to the torch in his left hand. Bon-bon, finally exasperated with the buckets of water ruining her/his hair, he took hold of the torch and dashed through, not caring if Edward caught up. Inaga was now at the top of the structure and trying to figure out a way down.

"I drop down first and you throw it to me," Spencer argued.

"No, it'll burn you!" Gilbert snorted.

"I'm not going to catch it, I'm going to pick it up off the ground."

"That's not going to work, it'll go out."

"No it won't, haven't you seen Indiana Jones?"

"That's a _movie_!"

Fred overheard this exchange and he topped the net and sprawled at the top, catching his breath slightly. He then took the torch from Cesar and tossed it to the sand below. Sure enough, it sputtered angrily, but didn't go out. With a whoop, Abberline repelled down the wall and Cesar close behind. Spencer rolled his eyes and seized the torch out of Gilbert's hand to let it fall over the side before starting over himself.

The teams were neck and neck to the groups of green Mort and Duke and orange Axel and Tobey. Hahage was slowed when Mort had trouble scrambling onto the platform (having forgotten to remove the magic pocket), which Jack and Sands had to make up with neat dives into the water and returning for the torch they'd left resting on the edge of the buoyed surface.

Jack was swimming with the torch in his teeth like a sword as Donnie and Raphael traded off occasionally once swimming with one arm became too much. Sands and Jack were without this problem and had only to worry about getting to shore first. They were pulling away from Inaga. Slogging up the shore. Sands wearily climbed the tower and all but flopped over the top. Touching the dangerously low fire to the wood, he was forced to lean backward to prevent water dripping onto the seasoned wood. They'd worked too hard to have him screw up now. Raphael was beginning to climb the tower as well. Sands blew lightly on the now furiously smoking wood, coaxing it brighter and hotter. Flames licked at the string. Blackened it. Ate away at it. The string snapped and a green flag snapped in the brisk ocean breeze.

"Hahaga wins immunity!"

A/N: Audience participation begins... now. You betcha. I don't pick who gets voted off. You do. I couldn't do that to a Johnny. Besides, Bon-bon would probably win because (s)he's too fun to write. So get to it, chop chop!


	3. Can't sleep, moai's will eat me

**Title:** Johnny Survivor

**Rating:** PG (Features the first edited swear, courtesy of Spencer Armacost.)

**Summary: **The twisted brainchild of a weirdo in desperate need of new ideas for writing material. Lucky story doesn't know what hit it. What happens when Johnny Depp in a good deal of his incarnations get stuck on an island to play... well... Survivor? And more important... when those incarnations' Angels spur me on to greatness (cough)? Little less madness, a little more action this chapter. Lots and lots of dialogue too.

**Disclaimer:** Since I've neglected this the first 2 chapters, I figure I might as well get it out of the way. I own nothing whatsoever. I don't own the concept of Survivor, I don't own Johnny Depp, I don't own any form of Johnny and I don't own the Angels that make this possible. Except myself; I think I own myself. Maybe... Oughtta go check on that.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks for the fab reviews, kiddos! Indeedy, JA is full of friendly folk, the fact that a few of us are a bit off kilter not withstanding. That just means we're eccentric to boot, savvy? Well, we've had our first voting thingamabob; here is the result in the flesh. Oh yeah... and think of this as a sort of tribute to the real Survivor that started 9/16/04.

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**Chapter 3- Can't sleep, moai's will eat me**

**Last time**

**--- When we last left off,** Hahaga's green flag was flying high and proud as could be considering how the tribe had gotten to that point. It was calm, sweet (for the most part) Inaga that had to brace for the guillotine that would relieve them of a tribe member. As much as they hated to admit it, this would be the easiest council they'd go through, not knowing exactly who was who apart from what they'd occasionally see of each other in Angel Adventures or DB's apartment.

**Spencer**

**--- "Ichy... I don't know exactly** how to say this but... I despise you. I utterly hate you and well, even if you aren't voted off tonight, I'll be sure to make it easier when the time comes to count all your previous votes. You just don't have what it takes to be a Survivor, boyo. You're getting my vote."

**Donnie**

**--- "Spencer is a problem child. **He doesn't get along with the others, he's moody, he doesn't like water... how did he get on this show if he hates water? I... I just can't deal with someone who's going to flout authority. I say authority with the best intentions of course; I just think Inaga would be worse off without some kind of structure. And with a bully like Spencer? That's why, if nothing else happens, I'll be happy to see Spencer gone before I am."

**Inaga- Tribal Council**

**--- The outlook was grim for **Inaga. Personal items were exhumed and replaced in worn knapsacks. The fire was left burning for the lucky 7 that would return and the 8 staffs were taken up for the trek to Tribal Council. If there was ever a longer walk, Inaga couldn't think of one.

They made it to the fiery clearing with some energy to spare. They lit their torches from the abundant flames and sat, 2 rows of 4, and waited for the grisly process to begin.

"Good evening to you, Inaga. Today must have been something of a trial for you all. How about some reactions? Donnie, what went wrong today?"

"Well... we were held up by differences of opinion and knowledge of the best way to keep a fire above water when swimming. They've got pirates, there was really no feasible way we could catch up. I'm not complaining, but that was Jack's element. There's no arguing with that."

"All right, so you think Jack just being an overall better swimmer is to blame. How about you Spencer?"

"The incompetence of some of our teammates, despite the fact that they claim to be scientists."

"Hey, watch it!" Ichabod interjected.

"Okay, okay, guys, be civil. Spencer, why the dislike towards Ichabod?"

"Because he's too predictable, precise and needs a good kick in the head."

"I never knew you felt that way. Good, maybe I'll be better off with Sarah-..."

"Guys, _easy_. No need to bite heads off here. Ichabod, what's your response to this?"

"Had I known I was so against Spencer's beliefs, I probably would have done something about it. Now, I just don't care. Let him try and vote me off. I'm going to be here for awhile yet, you watch, Mr. Armacost.," Ichy sneered, waiting for a reaction from Spencer. The alien in question simply yawned and turned a lazy expression to his nemesis.

"Getting cocky, are we?"

"I think things are a bit _too_ intense right now. Besides, it's time to vote. Tobey, you're up."

Tobey levered himself to his feet and shuffled down the ramp to the special, ceremonial circle of voting. He uncapped the marker and stood thoughtfully before scribbling down something, folding it up, and stuffing it into the pot. He capped the marker again, and returned.

"Raphael."

Raphael repeated the process, as did Axel, Gilbert and Sam.

**Sam**

**---"I'm sorry, Raphael. You probably** _are_ the Survivor, but this came at a bad time in your life. You need to be with SS. There might be a next time, who knows? But now's not the time to worry about this stupid game."

Sam folded the paper bearing Raphael's name and stuffed it into the pot.

**Donnie**

**---"Spencer, you're a jerk. Pick** on someone of your own caliber."

**Ichabod**

**---"You know, I wasn't going** to vote for you. But, you leave me no choice."

**Spencer**

**---"I hope you enjoyed my** little show at the campfire tonight. I sure did. I hope I scared you."

**Inaga- Tribal Council**

**---"I'll go tally the votes,"** the host smiled a tight grin before going to fetch the ceremonial pot of votes. There were hard glances around the fire: mostly of people trying to avoid others' eyes. The tension was thick enough to make breathing a problem. The host returned, placing the pot on a pedestal.

"The first vote. Is Spencer."

Ichabod's untidy scrawl was presented.

"The second vote... Ichabod."

It was Spencer's vote.

"Axel."

Axel's eyebrows furrowed, wondering what he'd done to deserve his name on the parchment. Nobody would meet his gaze for a number of different reasons.

"Axel."

He swallowed, trying to contain his nervous energy.

"Raphael."

Raphael's face was pure stone. He gave no sign that he'd even recognized his name being announced.

"Spencer."

Spencer rolled his eyes.

"Raphael."

This warranted a slight sigh. Whether it was of relief or fear, nobody was quite sure.

"The first person voted off Survivor: Rapa Nui."

The host turned the parchment around, RAPHAEL displayed in barely legible, backwards script. Raphael nodded, not daring to say anything.

"Bring your fire."

Raphael took a last, lingering look at his tribe of 3 days before shouldering his pack and presenting his torch.

"Fire is a sign of life in the wilderness, as you learned in this last challenge. It signifies life, and it also signifies destruction in the purest form. However, as your life on Rapa Nui is extinguished, so is your torch. The tribe has spoken."

The host then placed the ceremonial putter-outter over Raphael's torch, thereby snuffing it out.

**Raphael**

**---"This is... it's such a **relief. I don't have to worry about SS anymore, I can try and make peace... I can make things better now. I know I didn't really get to win anything for her, but I can try again some other time. I just have to show her I'm better than James or... if it works out, she'll have forgotten him. It's a long shot but... I'm holding out."

**Ichabod**

**---"I can't say I was** surprised to get the vote. Scientific evidence seems to suggest that Spencer doesn't really like me. I don't know why it's me he's signaled out, but I don't much appreciate it one way or another.

**Axel**

**---"I think I'm going to** have to start getting things in gear. They probably voted for me because I haven't really done much. That will change though; I hear the fish out there. They're talking, trying to tell their stories. I'm going to listen. I think they'll have the answer I'm looking for.

**Spencer**

**---"I'd say I thought the** idiots that burned me was a two-timing son of a (beep), but I'll give the benefit of the doubt. After all, I'm still on the island, aren't I?

**Inaga- Morning**

**---There was a loud crash **as the metal, waterproof container clattered out of the tree and landed on a rock. Since no one had been placed on watch the night before, the whole tribe had to scramble to battle positions.

"All right, Inaga, this had better be your camp or I'm going to freak right out. Cuidado, piso-..."

"Mojado," several Johnnies answered.

"DB, how'd you get here?" Axel asked, taking the initiative. Unangeled Johnnies had been taught the Spanish code to better help their blind caretaker identify them.

"Long story, listen, I've been walking for a long time now, do you have any water to spare?" Donnie nodded at Ichabod who scurried off to fetch one of the water jugs.

"What brings you out here, DB?" Gilbert asked. Why would she seek them out on a remote Pacific island?

"Well, this whole deal with SS was bothering me, so I enlisted Gabe to help me go Raphael-hunting. Give it to me straight, am I in the right camp?"

"Er... yes, but-..."

"Gabe, we got it right this time!"

"The buffs helped a bit," Gabe blushed.

"So where's dear Raphael? Why can't I hear him?" DB queried, returning to the task at hand.

"I regret to inform you that we voted him off last night," Tobey remarked casually.

"You're kidding," DB's voice was carefully devoid of emotion.

"Afraid so, DB," Sam winced.

"All right. _Someone_ is going to be in trouble. I track this crazy Native American to a corner of the earth only to find he's not here? This has gone way beyond a _little_ learning-..."

"DB, no! You _can't_!" a faint voice crackled over the Ops Angel's communicator.

"SS, did you know they voted Raphael off? I was _trying_ to do the right thing and he _has_ to get himself voted off-..."

"Capítan, come on. So Raphael's not there, at least you got to see Easter Island!"

"Hardy har, Maravilla," DB grumbled.

"You're not allowed to mentally disturb the Johnnies, not even your own, savvy? If you have to take your anger out on something, might I suggest a stress ball or something of that nature? Or even target practice if you return ASAP. Just don't do anything stupid," Arenas half ordered/ half pleaded.

"All right, all right, fine. I'm going," if DB had had the ability, she would have rolled her eyes. There were 3 audible sighs of relief over the communicator: one masculine computer, one very concerned angel, and one former Cantina kick. There was also a suspicious comment that sounded like someone saying that there was no learning to speak of, but that won't be thought over in great detail.

"Sounds... fantasmic... Capítan. I'll hand you back to Gabe. Over and out."

"DB, Arenas will have a plane ready for you upon your arrival back to the airport. Are you ready to start back?" Gabe asked politely.

"Yeah, I suppose. Be good you guys, and good luck," DB called as she hauled her pack to her shoulders and took a swig of water. She disappeared into the brush, leaving 7 Johnnies a little more confused, but otherwise okay.

"That's not something you see everyday," Axel shook his head.

"Nope," Spencer agreed.

"Now why don't you harass anybody else, Spencer, why just me?"

"Shut up, Ichabod."

**Hahaga- Morning**

**---It was Jack who roused** first with an insatiable hunger who in turn woke Sands (a light sleeper). When scavenging brought up nothing of value besides 3 different kinds of berries and a bunch of plantains, Jack settled for rice.

"Who do you think they voted off?" Sands asked after swallowing a mouthful of the sticky, but filling breakfast.

"Th' fire one."

Sands sighed, "They all had the fire at one point in time. Care to clarify?"

"Y' know... th' last one. Lit th' tower on fire."

"Oh, him," Sands fished for a name. "Raphael. Why him?"

"'E looked lost."

"And you had time to notice this when you were swimming?" Sands remarked wryly.

"No, mate, when you were climbing th' tower."

"We ought to think of who we'll want to vote off," the pale man mused.

"Are ye suggestin' that I plan who I stab in th' back?" Jack asked seriously.

"You've got to make it so blunt, don't you? You remind me of a guy I once knew. Big, slow, guitar player...?"

"An' ye have t' dance around th' subject. Like me former evil, double-crossin' first mate," Jack countered.

"Okay, amigo, I'm sorry I brought it up. Just keep in mind that you'll have to vote sooner or later, and hope your head's not on the chopping block," Sands shrugged before lighting a stick on fire. As soon as he had been able, he'd reverted back to his own cigarettes. He hadn't gotten rid of the candyettes though, knowing he'd probably need them again when his reserve of nicotine ran dry. So he lit the cigarette with the stick and scooted away from Jack. No need to agitate him further.

**Jack**

**---"Th' lad's completely insane. I'm** not going to be thinking about that grisly detail until I'm forced to. Th' fact th' man's a rat doesn't help his case any either.

**Sands**

**---"Can you say, 'sensitive?' Jeezum...** and I _never_ say Jeezum. Ever. Savvy?

**Inaga- Late afternoon**

**---"I want meat. I'm sick** of this rice," Spencer grumbled.

"Go catch something yourself," Ichabod glowered.

"Now see... if I lived in the middle of nowhere... I'd be tempted. As it is, I'm wilderness challenged," Spencer shot back.

There was a moment of silence as Ichabod tried to think of some cutting remark. He was saved by Axel's loud cry from down by the beach. Johnny's scrambled to the beachfront to find out what had happened. There was Axel, squatting on his haunches in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks holding a squirming fish in his grip.

"Easy, _easy_. Come on now, what's your trouble? Tell me, I'll listen," he tried to soothe the fish to the point of peacefulness and tranquility. The fish began to gradually slow its frantic flopping and was soon lying quietly in Axel's hand. The only indication it was still alive was the sucking of dry oxygen in through no doubt burning gills.

"Would you give your life to help ours?" Axel asked politely.

Eyes wandered through the group, wondering if the fish would really answer. Axel nodded slightly in recognition and placed the creature back in its habitat, with a slight nudge, the fish darted through the water and out of sight.

"Did you just catch a fish?" Donnie asked.

"And let it go?" Spencer gaped.

"He didn't want us to eat him. It wasn't his time to go. So I let him swim home," Axel said simply.

"The fish told you this," Gilbert stated.

"He did," Axel replied, starting to get defensive. So what if he talked to fish?"

"_You let it go_?" Spencer whimpered.

"If someone reached out and caught you, would you like them to eat you?" Axel shot back.

"No, but you're missing the point. It was food. I'm sorry, but I'm siding with Spencer on this one," Tobey shook his head. Spencer started slightly, wondering who exactly would try to help defend his side. Tobey simply shrugged.

"All right, you know what? Next time, you can talk to the fish!" Axel yelled before leaping up and stalking off into the brush. Spencer made the universal sign of the wacko while Donnie and Gilbert both looked sympathetic.

"I'll go look," Donnie acknowledged. Gilbert nodded, watching as Donnie too disappeared.

"Way to go, you two," Gilbert muttered a minute later.

"Oh, like you didn't help instigate it." Tobey rolled his eyes, "Don't act so high and mighty." Gilbert was about to launch into an inspired rant when Donnie popped back.

"I found him, but he's still peeved. Don't complain about dinner," he warned.

"Wouldn't _dream_ of it," Spencer sneered, leaving the 3 alone. It was Donnie's turn to roll his eyes before gesturing for Tobey and Gilbert to return to camp.

**Tobey**

**---"Axel's a strange boy. I** don't really believe his whole talking with the fishes thing, but if it makes him happy, I can't complain. I just think he should add more to the group. Maybe this is the pot calling the kettle lack. Who knows? It's just going to come down to him or me and after today, I'm pretty sure nobody's going to forget what Axel did."

**Spencer**

**---"Why is everybody on this** team so incompetent? He catches a perfectly good fish and throws it back? No way. Nuh uh. It's definitely Axel or Ichy this time around. I think I'm starting to get some kind of a bond with Tobey, though. Anybody willing to defend a murderous alien is good in my books."

**Axel**

**---"I tried being nice, and** it didn't work. I can't eat what I can talk to unless they give their permission. Why... it's cannibalism. It's just cannibalism and a massacre of ethics. I don't care what they believe. They can catch their own fish."

**Hahaga- Next afternoon**

**---The sun was beating down** through skimpy trees upon lazy Survivors; all were in various states of undress. Captain Jack was still clad in a shirt and pants, being used to island heat. Several others, Sands, Raoul, Abberline and Cesar, had relieved themselves of their shirts. Mort, Fred and Edward were still fully clothed (though not very comfortable) while Bon-bon was... free. Hahaga was trying very hard not to notice.

"And to think you thought it was cold, Duke," Sands commented offhandedly. No one bothered to look at Bon-bon's attempts to come on to Mort.

"It was," the journalist replied stubbornly.

There was a period of silence that was occasionally broken by a yelp or giggle by Mort and Bon-bon respectively.

"That's it! I'm going to check the Moai mail! Keep... _her_ here!" Mort yelled before stomping back into the brush. Fred rolled his eyes and aimed a pointed glare at the transvestite.

"There's just no chance of you behaving, is there?" he grumbled. Bon-bon looked affronted before he huffed and dropped into the warm sand.

"No need, t' be so harsh, mate. 'E's just bein' himself," Captain Jack leaned close to the miffed Abberline.

"He's being distracting is what he is."

"You've clearly never been to Provincetown, Massachusetts."

"Clearly."

"Oh come one, you call this haiku?" there was a stumbling and cracking of twigs before Mort reappeared, a scroll clutched in his fist.

"What about haiku?" Sands drawled, neither looking at Mort, nor removing his sunglasses.

"The clue's a haiku, and a dumb one at that."

"I will read it," Cesar said, speaking up for the first time. Mort shrugged and handed the scroll over.

_Into deep water_

_Dive far and fast and retrieve_

_To win new food source._

"Doesn't it sound suspicious?" Mort asked. He'd developed a healthy, though a bit premature, fear of challenges. He didn't like having to adapt to some strange and evil competition.

"I'll protect you, sugarbutt," Bon-bon purred.

"Okay, coming from you, sugarbutt just doesn't sound wholesome anymore. I renounce all claims to 'sugarbutt'," Sands shuddered, despite the warn heat of the day.

"I... think I'll go swimming," Mort began to inch sideways towards the Pacific.

"But sugarbutt!" Bon-bon cried, "Don't you want me to swim with you?"

"No! No, no, no, I'm fine. I'm... practicing my diving! For the challenge, you understand," Mort stuttered.

"We don't have time. Why don't we get going instead?" Cesar suggested. It was a good way to keep Bon-bon from openly going after Mort.

"I can't," Edward shook his head furiously. He had been thinking about the riddle and came to the conclusion it simply wasn't the challenge for him. Metal and water didn't seem to like to get alone a whole lot.

"Well, uh... the other guys had to... uh... kick off a person yesterday. We'll have to have someone sit out... at least, that's my understanding," Duke pointed out.

"All right Edward, you'd be our best bet to wait this one out," Fred nodded, clapping a hand on Edward's shoulder. Edward didn't meet the inspector's gaze, simply stared at the sand at his feet.

"Don't feel bad. You do what you can and nobody can think any less of you," Fred gave a last squeeze of Edward's shoulder before moving towards the camp, stripping out of his suit and down to a pair of swim shorts. To the raised eyebrows among the group, he rolled his eyes as if to say, 'So I'm anachronistic, sue me." He turned on the bunch and marched steadily inland.

"What are we waiting for, mates? Let's get a move on," Jack announced, standing up and stretching before he too disappeared into the shady area beyond the beach. There were collective groans from the rest of the tribe as they began to prepare for their next challenge.

**Inaga**

**---Inaga was the first to** arrive at the challenge area and they were able to get an idea of what they were doing. A section of the ocean had been roped off and there were 2 separate benches set up, one green, and the other orange. Aside from that, there was nothing spectacular about the challenge. Inaga could only image what was going on under the tranquil surface.

Hahaga arrived finally, mostly in assorted swimming gear. Edward was still sporting his leather and Jack had stubbornly refused to strip further, but the rest were a mass of shorts and Speedos.

"Spencer, maybe you ought to look into a Speedo. Abberline wears his quite well," Axel murmured appreciatively. Spencer looked about to take a bite out of Axel as Gilbert had to hand onto the alien's upper arm.

"Cool it," he hissed. Spencer's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"Survivors! Welcome back! Take stock of who's missing from Inaga, Hahaga. Think it will help your cause?"

"I was right," Jack grinned, every gold tooth gleaming. Raphael was indeed gone.

"Today's challenge is for something I'm pretty sure you'll like. I bet you're getting sick of your rice." The host paused for the customary nods and affirmatives, "Today, you're playing for fishing gear. Line, poles, hooks... the whole bit. I'm sure a bit of seafood wouldn't go unappreciated."

Spencer uttered a groan, remembering the last time he'd almost had fish.

"Today's challenge is this. Individual team members from each tribe will swim out into the ocean to retrieve a panel. These panels have numbers on them. They _must_ be retrieved in order: 1, 2, 3, 4, and so forth. Whichever team returns their panels first and puts them in order on the benches first wins the reward. Now, Hahaga, there are only 7 panels. One of you has to sit out. Who is it?"

"Edward," the tribe replied, in a jumble of voices. Edward nodded, and moved to stand beside the host.

"All right, Survivors! Get an order, and be ready to go. On your marks!"

The assorted Johnnies were placed in a roster order, the strongest swimmers going the last leg for the deeper panels.

"Survivors ready! Go!"

Ichabod and Cesar dashed for the water, Ichabod in a shirt and pants, Cesar in shorts. As the water dragged at Ichabod's excessive dress, Cesar was able to gain a slight upper hand, ducking under and searching for the magic, first panel. He surfaced, clutching in his hand a board with a white 1 on it surrounded by a border or green. Ichabod was but 3 seconds behind in the swim back for shore, but found he still had trouble slogging back to the starting line.

Mort in swimming shorts was already wading out as Ichy collapsed on the sand, trying to catch his breath. Sam, sympathetic, tried to meet him halfway, stopping when he'd gone as far as he was allowed. Ichabod crawled over to Sam, managing to slap his hand before curling up on the sand to recover. Sam darted into the water a lot faster than anyone gave him credit for. By the time Ichy managed to place his panel on the bench, San was already beginning to start back, neck and neck with Mort. He managed to pull ahead as the slow lumber onto dry land began. Sam slapped Tobey and wobbled up to the bench to place his own orange plank next to Ichy's.

Tobey began with a slight lead over Bon-bon which soon grew as Bon-bon began to shy away from the water. Salt water didn't seem to be something that would be tolerated willingly. He'd already been stuffed into a Speedo, wasn't that enough? Tobey took the initiative to widen the gap. He managed to grab his board and surface before Bon-bon had gone halfway out. Tobey tagged Gilbert and went to sit behind a still panting Ichabod and silent Sam.

Gilbert managed to lengthen the time gap as he too ran up the beach with the number 4 board and slapped Axel's palm. Finally, Fred was able to dive into the water and paddle for all he was worth. Axel's time with the fishes helped him a great deal, but not so much that it prevented Fred from gaining back some of the lost time.

The two managed to run up the beach together, Inaga still ahead by one plaque. Duke, a powerful swimmer was pitted against number 6, Donnie. Duke was gaining on Donnie steadily, but the teams still weren't even. Duke was back on the beach as Donnie came up for air. Hahaga was only half a trip behind.

Sands dove out next, trying to help finish what Duke and Fred had started. They were so close, he could taste it! It was almost more prominent than the great amount of salt water leaking into his mouth. Donnie managed to tag Spencer before Sands had gotten halfway out and things were looking good for Inaga. Until Spencer made his weakness blatantly obvious.

"I _hate_ water..." he moaned.

"You said you'd go last, you can do it! Swim, Spencer! Do it for the fish!" Donnie yelled.

Spencer gritted his teeth, hating the situation immensely. What was that phrase? C'est la vie? Curses. Let it sink to the vile pits of Hell. He took a deep breath as Sands did like wise out in the ocean and plodded purposefully into the water. He ignored the immediate feeling of fear and dislike of hydrogen dioxide and continued, beginning to doggie paddle as the situation called. He passed Sands who was racing at a fast clip. He passed the resting place of the number 6 plank. He treaded water where the last board should be as Captain Jack dove neatly into the water. It was do or die. He clamped his moist fingers over his nose and swam as far down as he could. He squinted at the floor, trying to spot a flash of orange...

Spencer came up gasping for breath and began the long doggie paddle back. Jack was just starting his dive, Inaga didn't have as much time as they'd originally thought. He heard a splash behind him and began to paddle faster. The fear of water and the hatred of losing began to mount, empowering him to move faster, try and keep some distance between himself and the swift pirate. His foot touched the bottom and he scrabbled for all he was worth for some purchase. Jack and he were now tied; Spencer had to get there first! Glancing at Jack, he made a mad lunge for the bench, shoved his plank in place to reveal the Survivor: Rapa Nui logo...

"Inaga has won the reward challenge!"

**Hahaga- Night**

**---Bon-bon was subdued that night.** No amount of cajoling or suggestive phrases could make him get out of his funk. Guilt was not an easy thing to deal with when food was on the line.

So the tribe cooked up another batch of rice and at in silence. They all went to bed early, anticipating a not so fun immunity challenge.

**Inaga- Morning**

**---Tobey had woken up early** as everybody knows the best time to catch a fish is earlier than anybody cares to be up. Besides, fried fish isn't exactly the worst smell to wake up to. Maybe the others would appreciate the gesture. Axel was still iffy, but as far as Tobey was concerned, it was the majority that mattered and they didn't work to win this gear for nothing.

By the time the rest of Inaga roused from slumber, Tobey had 2 fish gutted, boneless and sizzling over the fire.

"That was so worth it," Spencer hummed happily as he sat in front of the conflagration. Donnie, Ichabod, Gilbert and Sam soon joined the duo while Axel took a bit more time. He didn't like the idea of eating fish, but maybe he could just have plain rice. He sincerely hoped Tobey hadn't managed to catch the same fish he'd talked to yesterday; that would have been too disappointing.

Tobey doled out the fish and made a silent gesture as if to ask if Axel wanted any. Axel shook his head and got up to take a walk instead. He'd let the tribe eat first. Their comfort was paramount to his own. He couldn't impose his ideas on them; after all, he'd tried that already.

On a whim, he took a meandering route to the moai that was guarding their mail. Sure enough, the little arm of the tiki idol atop the box was raised in friendly salute. Axel reached in and pulled out a piece of ceramic in the shape of a plate.

_Out in the bush_

_The cuisine isn't appetizing,_

_The Survivor often requires a push_

_You may not be starved_

_But should you not partake_

_So shall your fate will be carved._

"A food challenge?" Axel murmured. He didn't like the implications, but he couldn't complain. He'd pull his weight like Spencer did yesterday. Spencer was _not_ going to make him feel inferior. He started back to camp, with his jaw set and determination shining in his eyes.

"He guys, we've got mail."

**Hahaga- Afternoon**

**---It had been an uneventful** morning at Hahaga tribe. The rice was getting to be a dreary routine, but it was food. Besides, they'd had a reasonable chance of winning a chance to have fish. Nobody was allowed to complain.

Jack had fetched the plate clue about the same time Axel had, and had made about as much out of it. There was going to be food, and it was going to be inedible.

"Mates, we're popular! We're still gettin' fanmail!" Jack grinned, waving the ceramic. Sands perked an eyebrow, remembering their exchange about voting. If somebody didn't do this challenge, the noose would tighten sooner than they'd expected.

"Oh boy, a challenge we'll enjoy," Fred sighed.

"Well, maybe we'd better skip lunch and start packing. Starving oneself to the point of delirium does amazing things to one's judgment," Mort nodded.

"How do you know that?" Cesar asked, having known hard times, but never that bad.

"The day I ran out of Doritos," Mort quivered slightly in memory. "I had to eat... celery and peanut butter."

Duke declined comment for the horror story and instead stood up. "We'll just have to arm ourselves to the teeth... Catch anything those swine throw at us."

"Aye!" Jack cried.

"Mhmm," Sands muttered.

**Inaga- Afternoon**

**Two picnic tables had been **set up in the middle of the clearing. On it were all kinds of gelatinous, slimy, sticky, bug-infested food imaginable. The smell wafting through wasn't too pleasant either. The 7 remaining members of Inaga had to fight not to throw up, but received a certain twisted pleasure in noticing Hahaga had a similar issue.

"Welcome back, Survivors, grab a seat," the host gestured to the fringes of the tables where they were expected to sit. Inaga moved wearily towards the orange settings, as Hahaga prowled towards the green side.

"As I'm sure you were able to guess... this is a food challenge," the host wore a devious smile as he surveyed the uneasy campers. "I hope you've brought a healthy appetite." With a flourish, his gestured to the food.

Everybody had to stifle a feeling of nausea. The bowls themselves didn't hold actual food, just very unappetizing animal products. The least assuming bowl held several sweet potatoes. The potatoes seemed to be more feared than the fish guts, eyeballs and maggots combined.

"We borrowed this from Fear Factor. Kind of," the announcer shrugged. "At any rate, you'll be having a smoothie of sorts. An unusual kind. It'll be made of the products you see before you. It's a friendly game of chug-a-lug. Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is the drink an entire mug without puking or spitting up. The first team to chug theirs entirely wins. Bring in the smoothies!"

Before the poor, distraught Johnnies had a chance to glance towards the forest, a hoard of natives swept by and deposited their catches in front of each one. As quickly as they'd come, they were gone again, with nothing but a slight breeze indicating their presence. Their offerings were clay mugs filled with a peach colored, viscous liquid; it was nothing they'd ever dreamed of bringing to their lips, let alone ingesting willingly.

"Hahaga! Who's sitting this one out?"

Bon-bon raised her hand quickly.

"All right, Hahaga going without the aid of Bon-bon. Bottoms up. Survivors, are you ready? Chug!"

The first intrepid Survivors to take a swig were Sam, Captain Jack, Donnie and Duke. Their reasons were varied, but the 4 did spur on more team mates. Sands was heard to be muttering about tequilas with limes around gulps of the terrible stuff as Gilbert simply held his nose. After several tries, even Edward began to get into the rhythm. Soon, only Axel and Mort hadn't touched their drinks.

"Time I listened to my own advice," Mort sighed, and tilted the mug to his lips.

"C'mon, Axel," Gilbert hiccupped. "_Drink_."

"I won't. I... The fish is in it."

"_Fish_?" Spencer's jaw dropped.

"The fish I talked to yesterday. They caught him. I can't drink this," Axel shook his head vehemently.

"No, come _on_, Axel! You've gotta!" Tobey moaned.

"No, I won't."

"I think if I try hard enough... I can get by the fishy, nasty taste... I can almost pretend it's Mountain Dew," Mort smiled blissfully. He drained the last drop and set the mug upside down on the bench. The rest of Hahaga, for symbolism purposes, upended theirs as well.

"I'm sorry to say this, Inaga, but Hahaga wins immunity again."


	4. Go Inaga, it's your birthday!

**Title:** Johnny Survivor

**Rating:** PG

**Summary: **(The past 3 chapter summaries give you the gist.) Some... _unexpected_ plot twists chapter. Stuff even I didn't see coming. I tell ya... these people are insane when grouped together on a virtually uninhabited island.

**Disclaimer:** Forgot to check this week; I still don't know if I own myself. Just as well, the less I own, the less liability I can be subjected to. Or that's been my reasoning.

**Author's Notes:** You people make me laugh and then some. Until a week goes by. If the candyettes don't tide you over, might I suggest a stress ball or some M&M's? After all... voting lasts 3-4 days. I'll make it up to you for making you wait so long. This chapter is officially the longest page and word-wise. Enjoy, my candyette chain-chewers.

**Chapter 4- Go Inaga, it's your birthday...**

**Last time, on Johnny Survivor**

**--- The tribes were engaged in** a chug-a-lug contest of epic proportions. A smoothie made from, among other things, maggots, fish guts, eyeballs and sweet potatoes was placed before each Survivor who had to drink up. In a surprising twist, Axel refused to touch the concoction, allowing Mort time to polish off his drink and clench a victory for Hahaga. Inaga must again fact Tribal Council.

**Inaga- Tribal Council**

**---"Welcome back, Inaga, though I** doubt very much you're happy to be back," the host smiled slightly as he watched the silent contingent that was the diminished Inaga tribe. There was a shuffle to their step and heads hung lower than normal, aside from Axel who was stubbornly trying to combat the depression hanging over the group. They filed into their seats and glanced at the host with somber expressions.

"So, tell me. What went wrong this time around? Sam?"

"It wasn't really the most... appetizing of foods... that you put in the drink. I'm sort of used to it, but it doesn't lessen the blow any. It was almost... inedible," Sam replied quietly.

"Okay, I'll probably agree with you on that one. Gilbert, you're quiet over there. What's your take on this divine comedy?"

"Well... it's becoming so much like... a soap opera. If it's not one problem, it's another. Between Spencer and-..."

"Hey, watch it!"

Gilbert rolled his eyes, "Spencer and Ichabod and Axel and... it's just insanity. It stopped making sense awhile ago, so I've just been trying to get by."

There was an inauspicious glance of scorn directed at Gilbert for his 'Woe is me' comment.

"Okay, fair enough. I don't suppose you have any strategies for these next 3 days, Donnie?"

"Cooperation is just key. We've gotta' cooperate. It's like that Franklin quote, y'know? We all hang together and so forth. More team work and just... hope for the best. Maybe Hahaga will be crippled next time."

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"With our luck? We'll need all the help we can get."

"Point taken. All right, time to vote. Axel, you're up."

Axel sighed and made the long walk to the voting table. Not that it was really a table per se, but it's still up for debate as to what someone ought to call it. He scribbled a name down, murmured into the camera, and deposited the folded ballot into The Jar. He sat down and Ichabod trudged to the private circle.

**Ichabod**

**---"You bother me greatly**. **I'm** still voting for you," Ichabod held Spencer's name out at arm length.

**Spencer**

**--- "You all bother me greatly**. But I'm going for Axel this time. You're the reason I'm here tonight. Since I don't have a wheelchair and an absolute peach to drive me around, I'm not having fun. When I don't have fun, someone pays. You're it, fish head."

**Donnie**

**--- "Much as I despise Spencer**, I think I've got a strategy worked out. Sorry to have to do this, you're not so bad... don't know why you insist on doing what you do, but I won't tell you what to do. I'm just playing the game and you are unfortunately in my way. Good luck, buddy, nothing personal."

**Sam**

**--- "I... didn't... want to do **this. I don't like to. I'm sorry."

**Inaga- Tribal Council**

**--- "I'll go tally up the** votes," the host's lips tightened in sympathy. Inaga was silent as the host too made the symbolic trip to the disgraceful podium of elimination. The pot was tucked neatly under his arm as he returned.

"Once the votes are read, the decision is final. The first vote-..." he buried his hand inside and began to fish for an elusive paper. "Spencer."

Spencer hid his immediate anger remarkably well. He settled for a huff and a dramatic eye roll.

"Gilbert."

Gilbert said nothing, though he looked to be pondering the circumstances as to his vote.

"Tobey."

Tobey bit his lip.

"Spencer."

Spencer's smile became even more insane under the fire's glow and the drugged glaze in his eyes.

"Tobey."

The man who wouldn't be Sancho Panza took a deep breath.

"Axel."

Axel shook his head.

"The next person voted off the island..."

This time, the name read 'T-Dawg'. Tobey gulped.

"Tobey, bring me your torch."

If it was possible, Spencer seemed concerned for someone that was not himself. He grasped Tobey's hand in a hard grip, eyes sharp but with a twinge of sympathy. With a final slap to the shoulder, Spencer sat back down and watched as Tobey took on the roll of Dead Man Walking.

"The tribe has spoken."

The putter-outter came up, and suffocated Tobey's sputtering flame. He hefted his pack, and walked away.

**Tobey**

**--- "I... I have no idea **what happened. I don't know what I did, what people were thinking. I fish! I have a thing with fish! If it has to do with my stance with Spencer, I can only hope they stop being so petty. Spencer's not pure evil... just sadistic."

**Gilbert**

**--- "I didn't think my strategy** of flying under the radar would work too long. I'd sort of hoped it'd be longer than 9 days... but what are you gonna' do?"

**Axel**

**--- "Spencer, stop holding grudges. It's** not healthy."

**Spencer**

**--- "Humans so bother me."**

**Inaga- Night**

**--- It was another late night **for Inaga as the 6 remaining Survivors made the dark walk back to camp. Nobody cared to sleep, but it was eventually agreed that a little sleep would be much appreciated over a depression-filled insomnia shift. The fire was almost out the next morning.

**Hahaga- Morning**

**--- "You know what, you're an** a-..."

"Duke glared at Fred. Fred glared back, but neglected to finish his sentence.

"I know I am. And I'm proud of it," Sands smiled lazily.

"Can't you be a little less smug about these things?" Fred was losing his cool.

"But where would the fun be in that?"

"Maybe having a chance later in the game, when it's down to the final 2. Who are you gonna' vote for: the wise guy or the friendly one?"

"Wise guy. He didn't win a popularity contest and he won by being tricksy. Good on him," Sands shrugged. This obviously wasn't the answer Dred was looking for; the furious Inspector stormed off.

"I can't believe I let you sleep next to me! _Argh!_"

Edward jumped at the noise. Things weren't looking good for the favored team. And to think it started with an 'innocent' comment about bananas made by the sarcastic agent.

"Perhaps... you should be a little nicer to him," Edward ventured as Sands plopped down onto a soft spot in the dirt. Instead of immediately retaliating, Sands took a moment to read Edward's pale face.

"I wouldn't concern yourself with my affairs. Fred's right, I am..." Sands broke off to glance at Duke and decided against it." I'm not the nicest of guys. Unless your name's Chicle, which I highly doubt. The best bet is for me to shut up and we all know that can't happen."

"Why not?" Edward asked in response to Sands' lopsided grin.

"Because I like to talk, savvy?"

"Savvy?"

"Entiendes? Comprende? Capiche? Can you dig it?"

"Uh..."

"Do you understand?"

"Oh, yes!" Edward nodded vigorously.

"That's good, buddy. Now all I need is a way to keep Fred off my back. Or at least less sensitive. Any ideas?"

"Just... don't yell. Don't be mean," Edward cocked his head.

"I fear you're asking the impossible, boyo."

"Boyo?"

"Sorry, my angel's been rubbing off on me. It's unimportant. I sure hope you give good advice; I don't think I'm in good standing right now."

Edward gave a half smile.

**Hahaga- Afternoon**

**---"Wake up, sleepy head," Bon-bon** giggled as he prodded Mort with a finger. Mort was sun-bathing in a pair of blue shorts, his complexion already vastly improved. Then, Bon-bon had decided that Mort had had enough alone time.

"Come on, Pooky, open up those eyes," Bon-bon persisted in his teasing. Mort slapped the dainty hand aside and cracked a cold eye open.

"Ah don't appreciate it when nosey people dictate when 'n where Ah can take a nap," he drawled softly, Southern accent very prominent. Bon-bon recoiled slightly, wondering if this was some new game.

"Well, I'm sorry you think me nosey," Bon-bon tried.

"Iffin ye'd like to stick around on this here island a bit longer, Ah'd skedaddle if I were you," Mort growled, still making no move to get up.

"But Morty-bear... I want to be with you," Bon-bon whined plaintively.

"Ah ain't this Morty-bear you speak of," 'Morty-bear' practically spat.

"But who else could you possibly be?"

"The name's Shooter."

"Shooter...?"

"Tha's right, liddle lady," Shooter drawled, death-glare still not fading.

"Oh... my..." Bon-bon glanced around, hoping someone else had caught this stunning development. The closest people were Sands and Edward who were engrossed in their own conversation. "Well... Mr. Shooter... what have done to my Morty-bear?"

"Your 'Morty-bear's no longer here right now. He's not dead-..." Shooter managed to look disappointed about this," he's just not upstairs, iddin you know what I mean."

"I don't know why I should. I just want Morton back... savvy?" Bon-bon stumbled on the unfamiliar word she'd picked up from both the pirate and agent. She had a vague idea idea abou what it meant, but it was still a new toy to be experimented with.

"Ah assure you that Morton ain't gonna be back for awhile yet."

"Oh... can you give him a message for me?"

"Ah wouldn't push my luck if I were you, missy."

"You don't have to be so rude," Bon-bon's attitude did a 180; se became feisty and angry.

"Easy there, now, Ah didn't mean nothin' by it," Shooter cowed slightly under Bon-bon's wrath.

"Then you won't mind giving him a message," Bon-bon glared.

"Ah don't seem to have a choice in the matter," Shooter looked hurt.

"No. Now tell him that when he comes back out to play that his presence is demanded on my side of the shelter. Promise to tell him?"

"He's not gonna 'pprecriate that much," Shooter warned.

"_Tell him_!" she hissed.

"Well you're jumpier 'n an armadillo on a hot plate. All right, Ah'll tell 'im."

"Thank you," Bon-bon glanced at him haughtily before skipping back to the beach. At the sight of the exaggerated walk and bizarre swing in her hips, Shooter felt his heart flutter just a bit.

**Shooter**

**--- "Ah don' know what came** over me... I just felt connected to her. Ah... Ah think I'm gettin' some _feelin's_ for her!

**Inaga- Afternoon**

**--- "Spencer, can you please just** cooperate?" Donnie spat. Spencer wanted to bite back. More so than ever, in fact. But some insane part of him told his fun side to take a breather. He was in too deep to really have lasted this long, and he figured it was only a matter of time before he was voted out. Or maybe they thought they'd win if pitted against him in a Final 2 situation. The thought of that happy tidbit made his blood boil, but there was nothing he could do. Unless, of course, he started acting civil...

Spencer closed his mouth with a snap, swallowed, and nodded. Donnie found himself in Spencer's previous position: with a snappy retort all thought out that had to be bitten back, allowing his jaw to hand freely in the wind. How had _that_ happened?

"Spence, can you please fetch the water? We've all done it once and your phobia is now moot," Donnie struggled to keep his voice emotionless. If this was a trick, Spencer was dead. The alien exhaled noisily before gathering the jugs and retrieving fresh water to be boiled.

Donnie shared a confused glance with Axel and Ichabod. Nobody was quite sure this meekness was a good thing, especially now with no one officially advocating Spencer's odd behavior. What Tobey had seen in Spencer was beyond them, but for now, it was in the past. Spencer was cooperating, and they'd take advantage of it.

**Inaga- Night**

**---"We need to reestablish a** watch. Raphael was right on that count. Last time we were lucky it was only DB. Next time? Who knows," Donnie muttered darkly.

Spencer was about to reply with something along the lines of, "Oh, stop being such a cryptic dip," but decided wisely to hold off. He'd forego wise-cracks for good standing this week. Maybe. This wannabe dictator was making it awful hard.

"So... anyone want to volunteer?" Donnie asked hopefully.

"I'll do it," Axel nodded. No one could rightly pin an ulterior motive to Axel's willingness, but no one could discredit it either. Donnie, however, smiled and clapped Axel on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Axel. I'll take second watch if you'd like, I'm just dead tired. Rest up, folks, there's another challenge tomorrow. We'll need to be in peak condition. I want to have every advantage when it comes to the next immunity challenge, and this reward one may help. We're going to beat cruddy, old Hahaga, whadduya say?"

"I'd say you needed to take a nap, General Brasco or Pistone or whatever your name is. All that pep's gone to your head," Spencer rolled his eyes and promptly curled up in a ball, back to the fire and consequentially, Donnie. "Egomaniac."

"What'd you just say?"

"Oh, nothing... General Brasco..." Spencer called cheerfully between yawns. He closed his eyes to prevent any further questions, but it didn't stop him from hearing Donnie's less than happy comment.

"Being good? What a fricken laugh!"

**Inaga- Morning**

**--- Sam was woken up by** the sounds of a quiet, but heated argument. The combatants were by now so familiar, that Sam didn't immediately leap up to prevent bodily harm. If they didn't kill each other, someone else would. Whether of not it was for the best was up for debate. Finally, sweet-natured Sam could no longer take the incessant hissing. He struggled upright from his prostrate position and hobbled over to Spencer and Donnie.

"Look... I know you two hate each other, but can't you go take care of this somewhere else? Some of us were finally sleeping on the ground without pain and I'd just appreciate it if the others didn't have to suffer the same fat I did. Now can you please resolve this or go somewhere else?"

Spencer cut short his probably insult to gape, slack-jawed at the normally mild Survivor. Donnie was equally shocked. Silence reigned for a grand total of 2 minutes before Sam reacted.

"Thank you. I'm going fishing if you need me," he allowed for a fleeting smile before grabbing the fishing gear and wandering down the trail.

Spencer quirked an eyebrow in question at Donnie who simply shrugged in reply. Their tribe was just too dysfunctional to be out of the ordinary.

**Donnie**

**--- "That's something I'd never thought** I'd see. I think it's ever worse being told off by the nicest guy in the group. It's like you've let them down, y'know? Now a good feeling.

**Spencer**

**--- "What bug's up his chimney?"**

**Hahaga- Midmorning**

**--- Fred glanced at Raoul.**

"Go check the mail."

"I'm a respectable citizen. Some other swine can do it."

"Mort, go get the mail."

"Ah ain't, Mort."

"Good Lord, Bon-bon?"

"Only truly cruel person would make a lady work when she's clearly pining for her love."

"Jack..."

"0..." he sniffed, "0 bottles of rum on the wall... 0 bottles of rum...! Ain't no more... bottles for Jack... Must get out to plunder... _some more_..." Jack's song dissolved into a fit of shivers and moaning. Fred simply didn't have the heart to ask the rum-deprived man to do much more than get himself under control.

"I don't want to do this. I really don't want to do this," Fred muttered under his breath.

"I'll get it," Cesar placed a reassuring hand on Fred's shoulder, but looked up as Sands got to his feet and stretched.

"No, Cesar. I can see all the rest of you are all MexiCAN'T's. I'll walk that whole long way over to that freaky ancient head and get our mail. Because I'm so self-sacrificing and all," Sands smirked. "And I won't even make Fred ask me."

Fred's obvious look of displeasure looked as though he would have preferred to ask if Sands' smug grin was his other option. Before Fred could think of a suitable retort, Sands was gone, humming some mariachi tune.

"I wish I could like him, I really do," the Inspector shook his head and returned to his previous lounging in the sun. Sands didn't prolong his absence. He'd filled his daily contrariness quota already, no need to go overboard.

"You'd think they'd let well enough alone, huh? It another poem, guys, and a cryptic one at that."

_Teamwork is the key_

_To winning a jubilee_

_You must think as one_

_Or you can think yourself done._

"Where did these people learn to write?" Duke scoffed.

"I don't know, but I don't think this is going to be an easy challenge. We don't seem to like to cooperate well," Sands remarked.

"You just can't be an optimist can you?" Fred replied sourly.

"I'm neither an optimist nor a pessimist. I'm a realist, thanks very much."

Had anyone been paying attention to Edward, they would have noticed his disappointed stare being directed at the foul-mouthed agent.

**Inaga- Afternoon**

**--- "I still think it's a **mental challenge," Spencer grumbled.

"Listen, I've told you before, I don't care. I can't be bothered. I'm not arguing with you anymore. If you're not going to let this go, you can kiss this reward goodbye," Donnie hissed as he prodded Spencer forward. He'd been hoping for a relaxed trip to the challenge site, but it didn't look as though it would really be feasible.

"Are you implying that I'm obsessed? Because that's something we call our angels, not ourselves. I'm not obsessed, I'm single-mindedly focused."

"I'm sorry, I forgot."

"You know, you're just as much to blame as I am. If you weren't such a crank, I'd be tempted to at least be civil."

"You're just saying that."

"Because you like to think of me as a seditious person. I won't stop you, but I'll just have to say, 'For shame.' "

Spencer broke away from Donnie and entered the clearing first. On either side was a giant box, one orange, the other green. It didn't look familiar, and Spencer had no idea what it could possibly be used for. He had a feeling it wouldn't be good. A curious head poked out of the trees from across the way, spotted Spencer, and drew back. Some rustling later revealed the Hahaga team (fully dressed this time) and looking carefully determined. The rest of Inaga soon followed Spencer's lead until both teams were in their respective positions.

"I see you both got your letters. Any luck trying to figure out what this clue means?" there was a twisted smile on the host's face.

"A mental challenge, of course," Spencer replied, uncaringly. Him? Obsessed? Nah.

"Something with cooperation. But we'll face it like we always have," Cesar nodded solemnly.

"That's very noble of you, Hahaga. Now, I guess I won't keep you in suspense. You challenge is indeed a mental one, and cooperative. Here's what you have to do:

"5 of you will take a place around the box and complete the maze. Only catch is, you won't be able to see what you're doing. The top of the box is completely opaque, as you can see. However, the bottom is done in plastic so your 6th member can help guide your movements. If done well, you can get your ball through the maze and out through the hole. Do that, your team wins the reward. I'd bet you'd like to know what that is, right?

"A picnic basket, full of every comestible you could ever want on a not quite deserted island. Sandwiches, chips, cookies, soda, you name it; it's probably in this basket. Do you think you can handle it?"

"I hope so," Sam whispered.

"Hahaga, 2 of you have to sit out. Who's it going to be?"

"For Fred's sake, I think I'd better," Sands spoke up. There was to evil grin or pained expression to accompany the simple statement. He shrugged and moved to lean against a tree to watch the carnage.

"I'll uh... be sitting this one too. I don't take direction well. Goes against my... body chemistry. Terrible for my heart. Need medicine," Duke tried to elaborate and failed miserably. So he too took a spot against a tree before anybody could question him otherwise.

"All right, Survivors, take your spots."

"Gilbert, you're an impartial party. Do you mind taking the bottom?" Donnie asked.

"Excuse me, but don't I get a say in this?" Spencer spoke up.

"Who were you going to suggest?" Donnie kept his voice in check.

"Well, General Brasco, I was going to say Sam as he's the only one that seems to care about us collaborating. He also seems to be able to keep us in line and... we can both trust him."

"But what if we can't hear him or-..."

"Donnie. Think about it."

"What if he doesn't want to?"

"Sam?"

Sam's head darted up in surprise. What'd the alien want now?

"Would you do us the honor of guiding our ball?"

Well... if it would prevent the two of them from biting each other's head off... Sam couldn't say no, but he would have much preferred someone like Gilbert to do it.

"Okay."

Fred was underneath for Hahaga, and Shooter beside Bon-bon who didn't seem to appreciate it. The rest were arranged symmetrically around the rest of the box.

"Good luck guys. Remember, keep a cool head and trust me, alright? I'll yell out who's side should go down. Work slow and we'll do okay," Fred's voice was muffled from under the box.

"Survivors, are you ready?"

Nobody said anything.

"Go!"

"Edward, your corner, ease it slowly!"

Edward, one scissor on top of the box, the other below, pressed down. There was a satisfying roll and thump as whatever was inside moved.

"Mort!"

"The name is Shooter."

"Whoever you are, your side!"

"You heard the man, Bon-bon. Help me push."

"Ugh, do it yourself!"

Inaga, no matter how annoyed they were with each other, were doing remarkably well. Sam was like the duct tape that kept a cranky machine working.

"Down, down, down... good, stop! Leeeeeeeeft... too far, too far, back..."

Spencer and Donnie, on opposite sides, couldn't snap at each other, and had no choice but to follow Sam's instructions.

A minute passed, where Duke and Sands both lit up. Team spirit was one thing, but a lack of anything interesting to watch was taking its toll. Besides, FF hadn't said not to smoke, had she? It was something Duke had chosen to gloss over for the time being.

"Think we're uh... going to win?"

"We've got as good a chance as the other guys. That guy... Spencer. He's a bit of a livewire that one... Did you see that look Donnie gave him?" Sands smirked at the memory.

"How's that make us even?"

"Unless you've been spacing these past few days, I'd say we're just as bad. We just hide it better."

"Pessimist."

"Realist."

"Inaga wins the reward!"

There were cheers from the orange box as several men slumped in relief. Sam crawled out from under the box, a happy smile crossing his face. Spencer and Donnie even had the grace to shake hands and clap each other on the back. Hahaga's collective features drooped. To their credit, there was no display of bad sportsmanship, just disappointment.

"Congratulations, Inaga, go enjoy your food. I'll see you all tomorrow."

**Donnie**

**--- "It was magic. It just** clicked! That was a good challenge; Sam's just awesome. What's more, Spencer agrees. I hope this is a turn for the best."

**Sam**

**--- "I'm surprised we won. I'm **not complaining but I really wonder if we can pull off something like this again."

**Fred**

**--- "I think... maybe I stressed** slow a bit too much. We'll have to try and come back and win immunity. It's true, rewards are nice, but it's the immunity that matters."

**Inaga- Night**

**--- "Yeah, Inaga! We did well!**" Axel announced happily. The whole team was in good spirits, perhaps more so than when they won the fishing gear. Perhaps it was because a picnic wasn't ominous. The general consensus was that it was the first challenge Inaga had worked like a true team.

"I missed this something fierce," Spencer nodded around a mouthful of roast beef. Donnie didn't even reprimand his atrocious manners. This was too good a feeling to lose. And Donnie felt a small twinge of guilt for being overbearing on Spencer. The alien's parting line before the challenge had stung quite a bit.

The team didn't even bother with the fish or rice that night. It was a regular pow-wow of epic proportions. The bonfire burned higher than ever and the sugar ran rampant through Inaga bloodstreams. The tribe didn't get to sleep until well after midnight.

**Hahaga- Morning**

**--- Mort awoke with a peaceful** yawn. He'd slept like the dead and couldn't remember feeling better refreshed. Until he realized he was no longer in the sand under the sun in his swimsuit.

"Oh no... you didn't..." he moaned and clutched at his hair. "_Shooter!_"

"I told you, you foul man, I don't like you! I want my Morty-bear back!" an indignant voice snorted from the back of the shelter.

"Bon-bon...?"

"I will _not_ kiss you!"

"Bon-bon, wake up, you're having a bad dream," Mort nudged the bare leg of the transvestite. Bon-bon kicked out, catching Mort in the stomach.

"Ow! Okay, okay, sleep!" Mort wheezed and crawled outside. Mort vowed that that was the last time he would try to be nice to the creepy she-male.

The Hahaga fire was burnt low, not much more than live coals. However, it didn't take much to bring the fire back to a respectable size as Mort got the water ready for the rice. He wasn't a great cook, but even he couldn't really make the rice any worse than it already was.

"Morning, sleepy head. Care to explain what happened to your mental stability?" Sands sat cross-legged on the opposite side of the fire. His dark hair was mussed up about as bad as Mort's, but his dark gaze more than made up for the silly look his hair gave him.

"Whadduya mean?" Mort wasn't quite awake enough to bother with good enunciation.

"Well... Shooter. Mr. Southern Hick. I have no doubt that you know what I'm talking about as you're the one that woke me up with your 'Not Shooter!' carp. Spill it."

"I'm not sure how much you'd like to know," Mort was careful to be guarded. A federal agent knowing his alter ego murdered his ex-wife and her boyfriend? Not to mention several other people who would 'get in the way of business.' No, that didn't bode well at all.

"More or less how Shooter can just take over your head like that. I mean really... don't you have some control over your head?"

"You sound so casual about this. Like you're really one to talk."

"Now what's that supposed to mean? I know you people are alluding to something, but I can't for the life of me think what you can possibly be talking about. Why do you all take me for some schizophrenic, psychotic jerk?"

Mort couldn't hold back a slight laugh, "I'm... I'm sorry. I think I've been editing too much of the dynamic duo's fanfiction. It's a little too easy to lose track of reality for me."

"Somebody's going to have to point me in the direction of this fiction. Now, I trust you've got your murdering half under control for the time being?"

"You know about that?"

"Of course. We're all pretty close-knit, you know. Don't worry, I don't think any less of you. Perhaps it even makes me appreciate you a little more. But what do I know, I'm a schizophrenic, psychotic jerk."

"You're not the only one."

"I knew I liked you. I'm gonna go see if the mail's here before those other lovely tribe mates of ours wake up. We surely don't need a repeat of yesterday. Not that you remember, but it's just as well you don't. Might want to stir that rice though," Sands observed as he got to his feet to take the short walk into the bush.

"Thanks, Jeffrey."

"What'd you call me?"

"Nothing... nothing," Mort grinned into the steaming pot of rice.

**Mort**

**--- "I dunno, I don't think** he's quite so bad. He's not average by any means and could stand to learn a little humility but... I think he's kind of fun.

**Inaga-Midmorning**

**--- Axel was the first to** wake up. Instead of being productive, he opted to just sit on the beach and enjoy the still cool light. He could hear the fish out there, but decided that he'd still be better off to leave well enough alone for the time being. Fish was still a sore subject for him.

Ichabod was next to awaken, if only to answer nature's call. It was perhaps one of life's useless functions, but there were some things even a scientist couldn't stop. So he tolerated the emptying of his bladder so he could move on to bigger and better things. Like finding and retrieving the day's mail.

"I swear, they get worse every time," Ichabod grumbled, glancing at the script circling the back of the mini tiki head.

_Natives of this island_

_Placed these heads that surround you_

_You will find out how_

So they were going to have to move moais. How bad could it possibly be? By the time Ichabod returned to camp, Donnie and Sam were also awake and bonding over rice. Ichy relayed the gist of the clue to the 3 awake members and gave his guess on what they were expected to do.

"Move moais?" Sam's stare took on a look of confusion.

"They have to do a cultural challenge. It's almost required," Donnie's nose wrinkled in distaste.

"Should we wake Spencer and Gilbert?" Ichabod asked.

"Possibly. They wouldn't appreciate cold rice."

The 2 Johnnies still asleep were promptly prodded into wakefulness, and after a lot of grumbling, set upon their bowls with something slightly less than starvation. They were filled in on the situation and offered their two cents.

"It's not going to be that easy. The largest moai is almost 72 feet tall. 165 tons of solid rock. I don't think it's going to be _that_ hard, but even an average moai is pretty bad. 32.5 feet tall, 82 tons. We shouldn't take this too lightly," Spencer warned.

"How do you _know_ that?" Axel asked with quiet awe.

"Well... you know how aliens supposedly did Stonehenge?"

"Yeah?"

"We told the Easter Island folk how to do the slightly more manageable moais."

"I uh... I see."

"But that's scientifically inaccurate. Ancient peoples are supposed to have built it with logs and lots of hard strength-..."

"Ichabod, really. I know these things. Trust me."

"You know I can't without proof."

"Then that whole thing about the logs and the strength will be your little secret."

Ichabod huffed.

"Let's get moving then, shall we? We'll need lots of strength today," Donnie laughed.

"And possibly even a little luck," Spencer replied.

**Hahaga- Afternoon**

**--- "All right, guys, we really** need this one. Who's going to sit out?"

"I would like to. I don't think I will be much help," Edward turned to Fred.

"I'd break a nail, I can't!" Bon-bon shook her head forcefully, yellow hair bouncing on her shoulders.

"Yes, that would be tragic," Mort smiled wryly.

"What has happened to your accent?" she turned to face the figure of her Morty-bear.

"Well... I'm... I'm not that man you thought I was?" he offered.

"Pooky?"

"What?"

"Are you my pooky? My Morty-bear?"

"I uh... wasn't aware that I was," Mort began to shy away.

"Morty-bear!" Before Mort had the chance to turn tail and run, Bon-bon got him from behind and felled him to the ground. "I can't believe you're back!"

"Yeah... me neither..." Mort whispered, trying to get some oxygen back into his lungs. Bon-bon hugged him even tighter. This was about the time Hahaga began to grow uncomfortable and started muttering, "Get a room," under their breath. After a final peck on the cheek, Bon-bon let Mort up and brushed herself off.

"We will go and beat Inaga," she announced and began to walk up the trail to the now familiar clearing. Hahaga just managed to share a confused stare before starting after her.

The half hour walk seemed shorter than it had yesterday. It could have been confidence but no one could say. They met up with the dastardly Inaga tribe, ready for another showdown.

"Is this going to be an easy challenge, you think?" the host asked.

"Doubt it," Spencer shook his head.

"Could be," Sands smirked.

"Want to hear it?"

"Do we have a choice?" Fred countered.

"That's the spirit, Abberline," the host winked. "You are going to erect your own tribal moais. Lucky for you, they're already made; you don't have to worry about doing chisel work. You do, however, have to think about how you're going to get a giant stone head up that hill and standing on those ceremonial _ahu_s stamped with your tribe's colors. The first tribe to do it wins immunity. Hahaga-..."

"Bon-bon and Edward," they announced automatically.

"Already decided, huh? All right then, Survivors, to your marks."

The 12 separate Survivors joined their respective teams around a prostrate moai lying on several logs. Beside it was a bucket of sweet potatoes, and a thick rope.

"Think they're for when we get hungry?" Axel smiled.

"Not from what I was told of it," Spencer's mouth tightened in concentration.

"Jack, I hope you're up on your knot tying skills," Cesar whispered.

"Aye, me too, mate," Jack murmured.

"Survivors... go!"

"I need someone on potato mashing detail," Spencer announced, staring at his crew. Sam nearly looked physically sick, remembering his tennis racket back at camp, Ichabod didn't relish getting dirty this late in the day, and Gilbert wasn't sure he knew what was going on.

"We're not eating them, we're stomping them to make grease to make the logs move. All you need is a foot, come on!"

"I've got it, Spencer," Donnie grabbed up the bucket and set to work.

"Alright, the rest of you, grab up some rope and follow me!"

Hahaga didn't notice that their opponents were under new management. Only that Jack was taking excellent care of the rope.

"Tha'd be that! Mates, are we ready?"

"Yeah, Jack! Come on down and help us pull!"

"Aye!"

They were the first team to try to make the moai move, and the first to realize that stone and wood don't glide over each other as well as they should.

"Wait, wait, wait, stop! Hold up! The rope's going to snap!"

Inaga was all tied up and Donnie had finished his potato dance.

"We've got to slather it over the logs as they come out from under the head. For now we can only grease the first and last logs. It'll get easier on the hill once it's all slathered. Ready? One, two, three, _pull_!"

There were grunts and strains as Inaga pulled against the ropes in a sort of one-sided tug of war. Even for a little moai, it was incredibly hard to move. But the sweet potatoes came through in a pinch. The head rolled forward slightly, exposing the last, already partially greased log. Donnie finished it up, and with the help of Gilbert, managed to carry it to the front of the head and place it in front of the others.

"One, two, three, _pull_!"

They repeated the process in a slow, arduous, but successful system. Every yell of three, the 6 members would strain at the ropes and pull the head a little farther forward. Then 4 would hold it in place as 2 ran back to grease up the last log and carried it in front of the procession. It was enough for Hahaga to stare disparagingly at their retreating forms.

"To think the key was sweet potatoes. Guys, new plan, we've gotta grease the logs up!" Fred called.

"I'd think we've already lost," Mort grumbled.

"Pessimist?" Sands asked.

"Realist."

Sands grinned.

"Duke, do you want to start mashing those potatoes?"

"You swine, why don't you?"

"Fine, but someone else had better start getting the logs ready to be greased."

There was a collective glance at the logs stuck under the moai and shrugged.

Inaga was very, very close. They were at the top of the hill (it wasn't a big one) and were contemplating how to stand the moai up. Spencer didn't have an easy answer for this, so they were reduced to 3 pulling on the ropes and 3 trying to lift from behind.

"Easy, easy... all right, lift!"

The 3 in back, Gilbert, Axel and Donnie began to try to get some leverage on the statue. Spencer, Sam and Ichabod, when the head was a couple of inches above the farthest logs, began to tug on the ropes, hoping to ease the strain on the ropes and prevent having to pull it completely up.

"Okay, stop! We've gotta' wiggle it towards the base! When I say left, the people on my left push and or pull to swing it that way. Likewise on the right! Left!" The big, stone head began to creak to the left.

"Right!"

It stopped mid-swing and went right. They repeated the process. Not too much longer, (all though long enough for Hahaga to establish Inaga's previous pulling rhythm) the head was flush against the base. _Ahu_. Whatever.

"One, two, three, _GO!!!_"

5 seconds passed, then 10, then a loud crash. Inaga's moai was on the pedestal, if a bit crookedly.

"Inaga wins immunity!"

Donnie fell to his knees, half from the strain and half from extreme happiness. They're actually won an immunity challenge. Because of Spencer!

**Donnie**

**--- "I take it all back.** You're not a bad guy. Aw, Spence, we did it!"


	5. Bats, Lizards and Manta Rays, Oh My!

**Title:** Johnny Survivor

**Rating:** PG-13 (More innuendo and implied, possibly blatant drug use. I don't condone it, I plays 'em as I sees 'em. And with Duke... it's sort of expected.)

**Summary: **(The first 3 chapter summaries give you the gist.) Angels just don't seem to want to leave their Johnnies well enough alone. It's called alone time for a reason. :P And Hahaga... well... you'll see.

**Disclaimer:** I own diddly squat. Not the newest edition to the Angel Crew, not her name, and still no Johnnies (drat). I don't even own the Squirrel Nut Zippers album that I'm listening to.

**Author's Notes:** Okay... so I'm a little late. _Little_ late. Just the tiniest smidgeon... oh the heck with it. I'm terrible. You all should just stop reading this right now. Turn away and shun me. (But you can't. ;)) I'd also like to thank the folks that sent in challenge ideas. Helpful like you wouldn't believe

**Helpful Info For the Uninformed:** A few of you have expressed confusion about who these Angels I speak of are. Well, I shall try my best to explain without ruining us too much. Heh, I'm just bad with details. At any rate, there's a website, called Johnny's Angels (Google search, first result) and the gist of it is, is that there are... _devoted_ fangirls that represent each of Johnny's movies. At least we're trying to get there. It's definitely a hoot and a half (did I _say_ that?) and the people are fun and it's just utter insanity. Good insanity. And as to initials like DB, SS, FF, etc. we just really, really like initials. It cuts down on the time it takes to address someone and it looks cool too. There are a few that don't have initials, (like me, Arenas) but it's still better than entire titles. Trust me. I might include a glossary of Angels and Johnnies at the end of a chapter or the end of the story if folks seem up for it. But if you are interested in the site, we'd love new members. 

**Bats, Lizards and Manta Rays, Oh My!**

**Last time**

**--- Spencer was spurring Inaga on** to victory with an old memory of moai history. Using a set of log rollers combined with mashed sweet potatoes, Inaga was able to pull their moai up a slope to its final resting place atop the tribe's _ahu_. Hahaga must now face their first Tribal Council.

**Hahaga- Tribal Council**

**--- "Gosh, this is going to **be fun," Sands murmured. His face wasn't the confident mask it often was; he seemed even a little defeated by the idea of possibly getting voted out. Not that it really stood out from the somber expressions of the rest of his team mates.

"Let's get this over with," Fred sighed

They gathered their staffs (Edward recruiting Cesar to carry his) and set out into the Rapa Nui wilderness.

They're walk wasn't a long one, about half an hour total. It was the team's first glimpse of the clearing lit by torches every 2 feet. The bonfire in the middle would have been pleasant if not for the fact that they wouldn't have seen it were they not supposed to kick someone off the island. After milling around, Survivors were directed to their seats after lighting their torches in the central fire.

"Welcome, Hahaga. I trust you had a worry free 9 days. However, it's time to do what Inaga's been doing this past week. First, I'd like to get the low down. Jack... can you explain the team chemistry doing so well then losing this past round?"

"Well, mate... I 'ttribute it t'the lack o' rum!"

"Lack of rum?"

"Aye!"

"I see. Okay, Mort. I notice there's been some alliances building up. Care to try and explain the logic behind the match ups or...?"

"I'm not in an alliance!" Mort cried indignantly.

"What about Bon-bon-..."

"That's not an alliance! That's... that's... a..." Mort was waving his hands wildly at Bon-bon trying to come up with the appropriate words. Only the right ones would do. Bon-bon watched expectantly, a serious look clouding her face.

"A..." Mort eventually stopped trying. Despite popular belief, he wasn't a mean spirited person. That was Shooter and he couldn't help that.

"Very interesting," the host smirked, thinking he'd won. "Last question, Fred. Tempers. Who's got the worst and does the team suffer for it?"

"Sands," Fred answered without preamble or hesitation. The agent craned his head around Mort and Jack to peer at the Inspector. "What? You do."

"Thanks. I'll remember that," Sands muttered, a glare trained on Fred. The host decided wisely not to comment on that.

"Okay, Hahaga, time to vote. Bon-bon, you're up. Bon-bon rose from the wooden bench, wincing from splinters, and sauntered over to the voting booth of doom.

**Bon-bon**

**--- "Oh, I don't know. I** can't vote right. I'm sorry you have such an unfortunate name but I just don't want to vote. I'm a lover not a fighter."

**Fred**

**--- "You're temper is a hindrance **to us."

**Mort**

**--- "You scare me and you're a **terrible influence on Shooter. You're gone."

**Duke**

**--- "You... uh... don't seem to** be doing a whole lot and... uh... I'm voting for you. Sorry, bubba."

**Hahaga- Tribal Council**

**--- Edward had been the last **to vote, scratching his choice onto (and often through) a piece of the parchment. Creative use of sharp bladed hands managed to get the top off eventually, and drop the awkward paper inside. He didn't bother to replace it, having steadily run out of time and patience.

"I'll go tally the votes.

During the time the host was away, Sands and Fred managed to engage in a glaring contest which Jack soon partook in just for fun.

"Once the decisions are read, the vote is final," the host nodded at Fred and Sands, warning them with a glance. Fred sulked while Sands simply sat back.

"The first vote. Cesar."

Cesar looked slightly confused.

"Second vote. Duke."

"What the-...!"

Sands glared at Duke. Duke's mouth snapped shut.

"Cesar."

Cesar's lips pursed.

"Sands."

SJ rolled his eyes.

"Cesar. 3 votes Cesar, 1 vote Duke, 1 Sands," the host recapped. Cesar's jaw twitched.

"Cesar. 4 votes Cesar."

Fred glanced at the Survivor he'd become closest to over the week.

"Bon-bon."

Her jaw dropped.

"The first Survivor voted out of Hahaga..." the host unnecessarily turned Edward's torn paper. "Cesar, bring me your torch."

Cesar nodded, shedding a tear. He hadn't wanted it to end this early. Not even with the other's bickering as much as they did. It hurt.

"Cesar, fire represents your life on Rapa Nui. When it goes out, you too are out. The tribe has spoken."

The putter-outer descended on Cesar's torch and snuffed it out. Tear-streaked, Cesar turned without a word and left.

**Cesar**

**--- "I hadn't expected to make** it to the final round. That was wishful thinking. But I didn't expect to be kicked out this early either. I must assume it's for the best. Otherwise... where would I be?"

**Duke**

**--- "Whoever voted for me works **for the World Bank! I'll find out who you are and get Gonzo on your case!"

**Bon-bon**

**--- "I sure hope it wasn't** my Morty-bear who voted for me..."

**Hahaga- Night**

**--- It had begun to rain** on the walk back. This prompted a few of the more athletic (or possibly energetic) Johnnies to jog back to save the fire from almost certain death. When everybody was crowded around the hissing embers 5 minutes later, it was Jack who managed to suggest a tarp of some kind. A mad scramble, a few sticks and a plastic canvas from Mort's pocket later, the fire was not totally dead and in fact, beginning to revive slightly. Nevertheless, it was another cold, sleepless night for Hahaga.

**Inaga- Morning**

**--- Spencer's eyes refused to open**. Some unknown force was keeping his eyelids glued shut and it was starting to bother him. Hoping it wasn't conjunctivitis, he peeled his right eye open. It refused to stay that way. He tried again. And again.

"Uh... somebody? A little help?" Spencer called, carefully avoiding sudden movements.

"Spence?"

"Yeah, Fish Boy, whoever you are-..."

"Axel."

"That's great, listen... my eyes won't stay open. I can open them, but they don't stay that way. Why?"

"My professional opinion, I'd say that you're over-tired and just got some of the best sleep ever."

"But why would my body betray me like this?"

"It happens, I wouldn't take it personally."

"Easy for you to say, you're used to it."

"Oh... right, alien."

"Do I have to lie here like an idiot until it decides it'd like to cooperate or...?"

"More or less."

"That doesn't help."

"Sorry."

"Axel?" Gilbert's voice floated over the myriad of noises invading Spencer's consciousness.

"Well, aren't you the popular one, Fish Boy. Go, go, I'll be fine," Spencer mock sighed. Axel rolled his eyes at the dramatics, aware Spencer couldn't see, and went to find Gilbert.

"You yelled?"

"Did you see this?"

"See what?"

"Look!" Gilbert proceeded to point a finger out into the Pacific Ocean. Axel followed the finger until his mouth gaped in astonishment. It was a boat with a banner hanging off the port bow. Axel couldn't be sure from that distance, but he thought the passengers were awfully familiar.

The sails were bright orange with the heartening message, 'Inaga to win' painted across them. He could almost imagine that it was his... angel in waiting tied to a chair... Was it ILA?

"AXEL!!! IT'S ME! YOUR NEW ANGEL! I'M ROO!"

Axel thought he was going to faint. His... angel?

"AXEL! GOOD LUCK, I'M ROOTING FOR YOU!"

Axel was compelled to reply, but it wasn't the heroic 'fear not' that he'd hoped to give. "YOUR NAME'S ROO?"

"THE ROLLING ROOSTER! I HAVE TO GO AXEL, GOODBYE! I HOPE YOU WIN!"

SS patiently gave Roo a chance to take a sip of water and rest her vocal chords. Raphael was scouting Inaga, looking to see if he'd missed anything.

"Makes me almost wish I'd tried to stay longer," Raphael sighed.

"Oh, cool it, you. You were helping with DB's birthday. What's a grand prize worth compared to someone's happiness?"

"I still don't know why it couldn't have been Sands," Raphael rolled his eyes before setting a course back to Chile. Somewhere far enough away that Roo wouldn't be tempted to jump ship, the newest angel was freed from her bonds and the trio sailed out of sight.

Gilbert turned to Axel and had to stifle a grin at the other's dumbfounded look.

"Congrats. You've always had someone waiting for you and now you've got your very own Angel. Maybe she'll drum up more support for us."

"... Possibly," Axel managed to nod.

"Okay, you know what? This is seriously driving me insane. Someone had better get over here right now and get my eyes open or I'm going to get really annoyed. And I mean _uber_ annoyed, do you get me? Fish Boy, Science Man, _somebody_ get over here now, _right_ now!" Spencer had had enough and was squirming frantically. Axel snorted in laughter before going to help the distressed Mr. Armacost. What a bizarre and amusing morning it was turning out to be.

**Hahaga- Midmorning**

**--- Duke jumped up. The bats!** They were back!

"No, you swine, go back! _Get back_!" Faster than the eye could follow, Duke had his flyswatter out and in attack position. The whistle of plastic through the air (were the frenzied shouts not enough to begin with) manage to startle Jack and Sands into full alertness. The rest of Hahaga—sans Mort—wasn't too far behind.

"Duke, what's wrong?" Fred tried to articulate through a yawn.

"It's the bats! They're going to steal my case and summon the giant lizards!" Duke wailed.

"Giant lizards?" Bon-bon mouthed, unsure as to just what kind of an opinion she should have on the matter. Sands managed to pause before he spoke.

"Duke... have you been into your case?"

"How dare you accuse me of turning to my case in times of great need!" Duke hissed.

"Y'know... Jeffrey... Sands... whatever your name is..." Mort tottered to the loose circle on rubbery legs. Waking up didn't seem to agree with him, but something nagged at the back of his brain. "I don't think he's been indulging. I don't think he'd see bats if he was."

While Hahaga was trying to come up with a suitable explanation for Duke's insanity, Duke was trying to swat at the evil bats for all he was worth. Gosh darn it, he did _not_ spend half an hour each day swimming laps for no reason! Duke needed all the wiry strength he could muster. The occasional squeal of pain brought him slightly perverse pleasure, but there were just too many. He couldn't hold them all off!

"Duke! Duke! Come on, man, stop flailing! Calm down! You're gotta' take this! Just a quick swallow! Jeeze, I can't get close!" Fred snorted in disgust.

"Here, mate... HIC... ye may want t'be tryin' t'give 'im this," Jack thrust a bottle at Fred. Fred eyed the vessel, then the off-balance pirate. Grasping the container around the middle, he took a cautious whiff of the contents and groaned.

"Jack, you drank this bottle entire of rum, didn't you?"

"No I didn', mate! Look... there's still some left!" Jack grabbed for the former quart of Captain Morgan, overbalanced and toppled to the dirt. Several Johnnies managed to wince in sympathy, but Fred wouldn't have it.

"Jack, that's _stealing_-..."

"I prefer commandeering. Nautical term," Jack hicced.

"You still took it from Duke's stash without permission-..."

"Borrowed."

"and were we in England, I'd be forced to arrest you."

"Ye'd clap me in irons. Tha's what yer sayin', lad."

"Yes, Jack, that's what I'm saying. It's my _job_."

"'N it's my job t'make yer job impossible," Jack tried to slap Fred on the back and failed. "'M glad we could have this talk."

Duke chose that time to disrupt the warm and fuzzies. He leaped onto Fred's back and began to slap Abberline's head repeatedly with the swatter.

"Fly, you swine! Leave Abberline alone!"

"ACK! Duke, Duke, get off!"

It took the efforts of a disgruntled SJ to pry Duke off the Inspector. Neither came away unscathed: Duke bore Sands' fingerprints and Sands, a flyswatter grid mark across the forehead.

Duke had landed on the ground after the brief scuffle with Sands and wasn't too happy.

"I bet you voted for Humphrey!"

"And if I did?" Sands winced, rubbing his bruise. Duke scrambled to his feet, but not before Abberline turned to Bon-bon.

"Tackle him!"

"Excuse me?" Bon-bon looked .

"Tackle him!" Fred gestured at the thoroughly ticked off Duke. It wouldn't be long now, before he tore them to shreds.

"You must think I'm some cheap hussy! Bedding with any man that wanders across my path... despicable! I assure you... _Inspector_... that there is only one man for me! Even if he occasionally is a perverted Southern hick..." Bon-bon trailed off.

"Well, if you care for that man just a little bit-..." Fred snapped, but never managed to finish. Duke let out a rebel yell and leaped at SJ...

**Inaga- Midmorning**

**--- Donnie tensed. "You hear something**, Ichy?"

"Indeed," Ichabod frowned.

"Spencer?"

"No... not angry enough."

"Hm," Donnie's brows drew together, then he shrugged. "Oh well. Pass the fish bait, would you?"

**Hahaga- Midmorning**

**--- It was a battle of epic** proportions. SJ was at an obvious disadvantage, warding off both Duke, and the urge to throttle him. It was lucky for both of them that Mort thought of the solution.

Mort tapped Fred on the shoulder, "Pass the ether. I can stop them for a little while."

"I sure hope so," Fred murmured, eying the rolling ball of dust and limbs. The brown bottle was quickly uncapped and held at arm's length. Mort upended some of it in a cloth he'd pulled from his handy dandy pocket and handed the rest back to Fred.

"Hang onto this. We may need it later."

With that, he approached Sands and Duke. Tossing the wadded ball of cotton and ether into the melee, he backed away, hoping it worked. Slowly, the combatants' movements became clumsy and disoriented. Sands backed away and collapsed in the dirt, head slowly lolling back and forth. Duke... was in his element.

"I don't walk like that," Jack's nose wrinkled.

"Nobody said you did just... don't set him off, please!" Fred moaned.

Edward poked his head out from behind the tree, curious as to whether the noise was done. Seeing the ether walking Duke and the disoriented Sands was probably something of a shock, and Edward found himself hoping they hadn't sustained brain damage. He didn't think anybody fully recovered from an injury like that and it wasn't in Edward's nature to wish pain on others.

"Are they...?" he asked.

"Ether. Turns the mind to mush. Or so I understand. I read it somewhere," Mort shrugged.

"My hero!" Bon-bon cried, trying to give Mort a hug. Mort wasn't appreciative of this, and instead went to check on the incapacitated Duke and Sands.

"I know he loves me. He's just too shy to admit it," she told Edward pointedly and returned to the cool shelter before he could say otherwise.

**Inaga- Night**

**--- "I'm bored," Spencer whined. His** eyes had decided to come unstuck somewhere in the middle of the day, but it hadn't saved him from the embarrassment that comes from lying prostrate until you can see again. After all... if he'd walked into a tree, he was fairly sure he would have died before any of them could point and laugh. Just on principle.

"Why can't you entertain yourself?" Donnie asked.

"Because. It's dark and there's nothing to do except poke the fire." To emphasize his point, Spencer grabbed the poker stick and began to prod the logs. Gilbert raised a warning hand and shook his head. Spencer grumbled and put the poker down again.

"I could make grilled cheese if we had bread and cheese," Sam shrugged.

"That doesn't help a whole lot," Spencer admitted.

"We could investigate the noise from before," Ichabod pointed out. Donnie disagreed.

"I think it'd be better to let that go. It didn't sound friendly whatever it was."

"What then?" Spencer glanced bitterly in Donnie's direction.

"Sing along?"

"A sing along."

"Why not?"

"You aren't worried about your manly ego being bruised?"

"Spencer... we're in the woods bonding like men. Should it matter?"

"My brain says yes... but my heart says no... Is this a bad thing?"

"Nope, just natural."

"I see..." Spencer rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 9 days in the bush was starting to show on Inaga, starting with the vaguest of 5 o'clock shadows.

"Anybody want to start?" Donnie asked. Ichy frowned while Sam looked thoughtful. Gilbert was the first with a small smile.

"Anybody hear of Harry Belafonte?"

"You know you humans all sound the same. Care to elaborate?" Spencer snorted.

Before Spencer could blink, Gilbert, one of the quietest members of Inaga aside from Sam, yelled. "DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY-O! DAAAAAAYAYAY-O! Daylight come an' he wan' go home..."

Donnie cracked up, slowly lying down on his side to alleviate the pain. Axel was next, the giddiness of being a represented Johnny still fresh in his mind. Sam's head bowed, his curtain of hair covering a wide grin. Even Ichabod seemed to find it amusing. Spencer's look of utter horror made the remaining 4 laugh harder than before. Gilbert, to his credit, managed to keep singing.

"DAY! He say DAY, he say DAY, he say DAY, he say DAY, he say dayayay-o. Daylight come and he wan' go home..."

Donnie and Axel decided to help with the verse, being more familiar with the tune than the rest.

"Work all night on a drink a'rum!"

Sam got into the spirit, taking up background vocals, "Daylight come and he wan' go home..."

"Stack banana till thee morning come!"

Ichabod caught the infectious groove too. "Daylight come and he wan' go home!"

Everyone, save Spencer, seemed to know the chorus.

"Come, Mr. Tally Mon, tally me banana

(Daylight come and he wan' go home)

Come, Mr. Tally Mon, tally me banana

(Daylight come and he wan' go home)

It's six foot, seven foot, eight foot, BUNCH!

(Daylight come and he wan' go home)

Six foot, seven foot, eight foot, BUNCH!

(Daylight come and he wan' go home)."

Donnie nudged Spencer, trying to get him to open up. "It's no fun if everybody doesn't sing."

"You're all insane," Spencer muttered.

"DAY, he say dayayay-o

(Daylight come and he wan' go home)

DAY, he say DAY, he say DAY, he say DAY, he say DAY, he say DAY

(Daylight come and he wan' go home)."

A round passed, and a second and Spencer was stubbornly refusing to take part. Something about the sing along seemed to turn him off to the entire male bonding experience. But Donnie wasn't going to take no for an answer. He scooted over next to Spencer and began poking him at an easy part to make him jump. Spencer would glare and sulk. Donnie would poke him again. Spencer would slap the hand away.

"You're going to sing. One way or the other," Donnie mouthed and returned to his happy campfire song with the rest of Inaga. Spencer rolled his eyes and sat in silence.

**Hahaga- Morning**

**--- For once, Abberline was the** first to rise. Sands was still passed out from his unexpected experience with ether and therefore, unfit to rise as early as he usually liked. So Fred got the rice and water ready for breakfast. He hoped that they'd win a reward challenge soon, the rice was getting annoying.

The smell began to rouse the rest of the team members, even Mort and Duke began to stir at leisure. Sands stayed oddly quiet, the calm rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he was still among the land of the living.

Bon-bon hummed in pleasure, enjoying the bowlful of rice. Food was food; he wasn't picky. He'd most definitely had worse. And better yet, Mort wasn't awake enough to push her away! She had scooted as close to Mort as she dared, her knee barely brushed Mort's favorite bathrobe. Bliss!

Duke was subdued, but not zonked out. The ether had worn off and he was relaxed. Apparently, even journalists needed something to keep them sane. Or less insane as the case may be. Whatever it was that could explain Duke's freak out, Hahaga couldn't guess and had decided to keep it behind them. For now.

Fred had been elected to pick up the day's m-mail and it didn't take long for them to begin to puzzle the clue out. So to speak.

_Today's work is based on smarts_

_Your team is ready for a riddle_

_Your whole must be greater than your parts_

_If you're wanting to ease the pain of your middle._

"Well, at least they dropped the subtlety," Mort grinned sleepily. Bon-bon brushed light fingers against Mort's thigh and felt his heart flutter in happiness. No rebukes yet!

"A riddle? I _hate_ riddles," Jack grumbled.

"Don't worry, we're a clever team," Fred nodded.

"Uh... should we... uh... go and wake... uh... Sands?" Duke gestured at Sands' general direction. He was feeling slightly guilty for getting the other man exposed to the clothful of ether and sincerely hoped it hadn't had any adverse affects on the agent. That would have been more than a little disheartening for Hahaga.

"I was missing the silence," Fred glanced sideways at Duke, a slight pull to his lips.

"Oh that's _real_ nice," Mort rolled his eyes. "Talk about the guy when he can't even defend himself. That's really righteous. If you'd just for a second talk to him, you'd know he wasn't entirely bad. He's just twisted... savvy?"

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, he's a jerk. He disrespects everyone-..."

"He's joking."

"... he's egotistic-..."

"Not overly so. It's amusing."

"... and he never shuts up."

"Would I be fair in saying the same thing about you?" Mort stared pointedly at Fred with calm eyes. Fred huffed, but said no more on the subject. It was Mort who took the initiative and went to go kneel by SJ. Bon-bon's heart deflated just a bit.

"Hey, Jeffrey. Wake up," Mort yawned as he prodded the agent. All he really knew about Sands' sleeping habits was that he was always up before Mort. The writer didn't know if he was jumpy or peaceful or anything, though it'd probably be a good guess that Sands would be just as dangerous asleep as he was awake. Sands, however, did nothing to prove this theory except roll over and groan.

"Jeffrey, come on. Sands. Do you answer to Sands?"

No luck. Mort was about to curse when he thought of a positively dirty trick.

"Shellllllllllllll-dun..." he murmured in SJ's ear. That just about did it. Sands snorted and tried to pull himself up to a sitting position.

"N-nnnn-NOT Sheldon! No!" Sands slurred, swinging for the blurry shape in front of him. Luckily for Mort that the punch was so feeble, that he was able to stop it with minimal effort.

"Okay, not Sheldon. No problem. Jeffrey better? Got a preference?"

"Sands..."

"Okay, fine, fine. Can you get up?"

"Kinda'... maybe..."

"Come on," Mort sighed and grasped Sands by the shoulder. "Heave!"

Mort's tugging combined with SJ's awkward motor skills almost managed to topple the both of them, but they managed to stay upright. A quiet command later and the two made a slow and painful path towards the rest of Hahaga.

"I think we know who's sitting this one out."

**Inaga- Afternoon**

**--- There was a collective intake** of breath as Inaga surveyed the partially crippled Hahaga. The majority surmised that Fred had finally gotten sick of Sands. Donnie and Ichy thought that he had been a party to the animal attack they'd heard yesterday. In retrospect, Donnie and Ichy's guess was the closest.

"Hahaga, it looks like you're having some difficulty," the host looked terribly confused.

"What was yer first clue, mate?" Jack quirked an eyebrow. Sands probably would have added something equally cutting, were he able.

"Well, since Hahaga has only one more team member than Inaga, it's probably safe to assume Sands will be sitting this one out, correct?"

"Correct," Fred nodded.

"Okay, Survivors, I will explain the challenge. You've all got 4 by 4 grid and 17 puzzle pieces. That's right, 17. We didn't miss multiplication tables in grade school; one piece doesn't fit with the puzzle. Your job is to figure out one piece that is and create the rest of the puzzle. Sounds easy, right?

"If you do manage to win first, your reward will add some flavor to your rice. You've got jerked meats. They'll last awhile if well preserved and they go well alone or with other foods. Ready? Survivors, to your marks!"

Mort carefully set Sands against a tree before taking a spot at the corner of a grid. It didn't sound like a hard task, but who really knew anymore? Inaga seemed to be the favorites this time around and Hahaga could only be expected to barely hang on.

"Survivors... go!"

The pieces, not being connected or needing to be slid on a board, were manipulated fairly easily. The pieces were piled on and the teams immediately set to work in getting them in order.

"No, it's this one, I'm positive!" Duke cried, tearing a piece out of place and fitting his own in. There was little strategy involved with Hahaga, where as Inaga was taking time to make sure everything fit.

"No... no... yes, that one!" Ichabod pointed quickly at Axel's hands. The piece was slid into place and the next one worked on. It wasn't fast, but it was effective. Somehow, Hahaga managed to gain a lead. Until it came time to decide the wrong piece.

The design was the customary green Hahaga field with the Survivor logo emblazoned in the middle. There was nothing extraordinary to it and the odd piece out looked exactly the same as another piece. The host wasn't calling time... were they supposed to tell him? Or was it really the wrong piece?

"Wait! It's not Wrap-a Nui! It's some kind of phonetic word play! It's this piece!" Mort called, swapping the two piece and smacking the table for emphasis.

"Hahaga! You've won your first reward challenge, congratulations!"

"Yes!" Fred cried. No more crappy rice! That was cause for celebration.

**Hahaga- Night**

**--- "Hey guys, we've got dinner!** Rice and beef!" Fred grinned. Sands managed to recover over the course of the afternoon and was in the process of relearning how to speak coherently.

"Bice 'n reef?"

"Uh, yeah! Let's eat guys."

It was a rowdy evening, with much fun and companionship over beef jerky. The fire burned bright and hot and there was again no need for spooning. Bon-bon slept uneasily that night.

**Inaga- Morning**

**--- Gilbert yawned and managed to** rise to a sitting position. It was still early yet, and most of Inaga was still asleep. He couldn't say why he'd woken early, only that he had and couldn't do anything about it. Following the idea that fish were best caught early, he decided to try and be useful and try for the meat they couldn't win. It hadn't been a bad effort, just not their best. They were still cooperating, which was more than could be said for Hahaga. Why else would one of their members be crippled like that?

It was sun up when Gilbert gave up. He'd caught 2 smallish fish, and they'd do well for one meal. No one could say he wasn't pulling his weight. He returned to camp to see Sam and Axel bent over the fire.

"Morning," Axel smiled. Gilbert nodded, holding up his catch. Sam's mouth twitched in the shadow of a smile. It wouldn't be a bad breakfast at all. Maybe it was the optimist talking, but at this point in the game, it was still far too early to complain.

"We're not out of the woods yet. Hahaga still out numbers us," Axel murmured around a mouthful of food. Strategy had to be thought of beforehand.

"Immunity doesn't hurt," Gilbert shook his head. Sam nodded in agreement.

"Whatever happens, the person most qualified has to lead. Nobody argues," Axel continued. Maybe he thought he was giving a pep talk.

"Of course," Gilbert cocked his head. Why was Axel nervous? Was he concerned that he might be the next person voted off?

"Maybe if we win, we can get Spencer to sing about bananas," Axel grinned slyly.

"Doubt it," Gilbert snorted.

"What's this about bananas?" Spencer sat down cross legged across from Axel, a lazy smirk on his face.

"Oh, we were betting on whether or not you'd sing the banana song if we won. I bet that you were too chicken. You can't sing," Axel waved his hand airily.

"You're just saying that so my ego will bruise and I'll be hurt. Fat chance," Spencer rolled his eyes.

"I rather thought it was a good chance."

"I'm not that predictable."

"No, you're not."

"Right."

"You sure showed me."

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Okay, okay, fine, I'll sing," Spencer shuddered, unable to cope with the mental play. Axel laughed.

"I'm holding you to that."

"I know," Spencer groaned.

**Hahaga- Noon**

**--- Sands woke up on his **own and was ready to confront Duke.

"What exactly was in that ether?"

"Uh... ether?"

"Yes, yes, besides that. I'm fairly strong willed or at least I like to think so. What just made me babble like an idiot for a whole day?"

"Ether."

Sands sighed, "You're trying my patience. I've got very little right now and I'd like to keep what little sanity I've got left. How concentrated is it?"

"Well... when you've developed a tolerance for the stuff-..."

"Oh... my... stars..." Sands exhaled. "That... was a trip and then some. Are you trying to kill me?"

"Not you specifically. Or anybody for that matter. I don't recommend my lifestyle to just any person."

"Then for my sake, if not your own... please indulge in that stuff in private. Please..." SJ pleaded. He didn't like things that put him out of his mind for extended periods of time. That meant very bad things were going to go down when he wasn't in control. He despised a lack of control. Not to mention how sad he must have looked with drool running down his chin. He knew; he'd felt it this morning.

"We're back to haikus again," Mort groaned.

_Wandering aimless_

_You need a guide to help you_

_Find what you seek now_

"Guide? This sounds... entertaining... to say the least..." Fred smirked.

"I'll be Mort's guide..." Bon-bon offered shyly. If he didn't like her coming on strong, perhaps the coy approach would work.

"I don't think it works quite like that," Mort refused to show emotion. Bon-bon slumped. Curse this stubborn man! Why did the hunt have to be so fun, and yet so hurtful?

"I think we have to go," Edward spoke up, pointing at the sun above. It wouldn't due to be late for one's own challenge.

"Yes... we must be prepared," Duke nodded. Sands cringed and stood up. He was still slightly unsteady on his legs, but he'd be okay. For now.

**Inaga- Afternoon**

**--- The two teams were on** their respective mats, waiting for the host to appear. He wasn't late so much as they were early.

"Survivors, eager are we?"

"Sure!" Spencer called. Awkward silences weren't fun, but filling them is was.

"Well, another cryptic clue for the lot of you. Did you figure it out?"

"Giraffes," he nodded.

"Of, course, Inaga, what else could it possibly have?" the host laughed. "Well, in this case, your guide is going to stand on top of a pole and direct the lot of you in the picking up of different flags along the way. Naturally, the runners will be blindfolded, thus making the challenge interesting. Immunity is up for grabs again. Inaga, who will be your guide?"

There was some shuffling in the dirt until Spencer came to the rescue again.

"I'd like to nominate General Brasco."

Donnie was dumbfounded, but didn't question. That would have been stupid. Instead, he shrugged and nodded.

"Hahaga? Who is sitting out, and who is guiding?"

Mort prodded Sands, a silent question about his physical wellness.

"Yeah, I'm... peachy," Sands nodded.

"Hahaga?"

"I'll sit out... I haven't yet," Jack shrugged.

"I'll guide if nobody else will," Fred replied.

"All right teams, get your blindfolds on. Guides, up top."

The preparatory minutes before the challenge were tense. The blindfolds were getting to a few of the Survivors.

"Ugh... I feel like a blind man," Sands moaned.

"Space is dark, but not this dark," Spencer shuddered.

"Survivors ready? Go!"

"Guys, fan out! Mort and Edward to the left, Duke, straight! Bon-bon and Sands to the right! Duke, straight! Straight!"

"I _am_ straight!"

"No, Duke, go more right, go more right!"

Duke toppled over a rock and lay sprawled in the dirt. Okay, maybe he hadn't been straight, but that was still a rotten trick.

"Sam straight, straight, float right... straight... you got it! Ichy! Your left, left, left, left, stop! Stay put! Gilbert, stop! Turn around, go left!"

It was an even match. No one tribe would hold the lead for more than a minute before someone else picked up a flag and returned it. Fred and Donnie were both hoarse and getting worse.

"Edward! Stop! Ease left! Ease... stop! Forward..."

"Spencer, it's right in front of you! _Right in front of you_!"

Edward's long scissors brushed against a flag pole. Careful not to slice it in half, he half ran, half carried the pole in his hands. The wrong way, of course.

"No, Edward follow my voice! Follow my voice! Your right!" Fred coughed.

"Spencer, _reach_!"

Edward was walking stiffly, the leather not the most advantageous of clothing right then. His leg didn't lift high enough. He stumbled over a log. Dropped the flag on top of the others.

"_Hahaga! Hahaga, come back to the box! Back to the box! Listen for my voice!_" Fred shouts became frenzied, insane. But Hahaga heard and came.

"Hahaga wins immunity!"


	6. Shoot Her

**Title:** Johnny Survivor

**Rating:** PG. I don't think there's anything bad in this one. Sands remembers not to swear all by himself now.

**Summary: **(The first 3 chapter summaries give you the gist.) I lost control of this story looooooong ago. Doesn't make me love it any less, but I concede; you win this round, SS. And Psnoo, you asked for it! More insanity, Fish Boy, Shooter, and a new Angel. Bit of a twist to Tribal Council and I think that's all for now.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still nada. I'm now the proud owner of a quart of fake blood, but that's about it.

**Author's Notes:** Teehee, I love that this story has been so corrupting and addictive! Why, it almost makes me want to update on time... not that much, but almost. Thanks for all the support, suggestions, insanity, new members, everything.

**Shoot... her**

**Arenas' Hangout- Afternoon**

**--- Arenas stretched, beach chair squeaking** in protest. Her new tropical corner was definitely helping the creativity flow more freely, but every aspiring author needed a break every once in awhile. It was then the trouble started.

"Arenas, where are you? We need to talk," a voice announced. Arenas perked up slightly, wondering if another chapter was due already. Granted, it'd been 5 days, but didn't your average writer get 7? She never really knew with this rabid crowd. Upon seeing Psnoo leaning in the doorway decked out in full paintball commando gear, paintball gun casually spinning between her fingers, Arenas knew it really couldn't be a good omen.

"Listen up, Sandsy-girl, I don't like Bon-bon. I don't like what he... she... _it_'s doing to _my_ Morty-bear. I want you to fix that."

"Meaning you're going to splat me if I refuse," Arenas observed, eyeing the paintball gun. Yes, the paint may have been water soluble, but she wasn't totally sure she had enough ammo in her water pistol to compete with Psnoo's sure to be fully loaded gun. If she didn't, Arenas could bet her island sunset mural would no longer be the blues and golds she was so fond of.

"More or less," Psnoo shrugged.

"Uh... why not go and ah... follow DB's lead? I won't exactly let you harm Bon-bon but... you can by all means prompt Mort to... fight back... I guess..." Arenas stopped. Mort killing Bon-bon wasn't appealing either, but maybe Shooter would put his two cents in. Speaking of which... "You don't need money, do you? I'm fresh out."

"Nah, I'm covered," Psnoo waved a hand. "I promise to be back in someone's pocket in no time."

Arenas didn't comment as Psnoo left. It was going to be another one of those _weird_ chapters.

**Last time**

**--- Hahaga, despite great adversity and **a faceful of ether, was competing against Inaga in a race to collect their flags first. The only catch was that the teams were blindfolded. Despite their issues, Hahaga tackled the challenge like old pros led by Fred and to win Immunity. Inaga is faced again with Tribal Council.

**Inaga- Tribal Council**

**--- "Is it me, or is** this getting a tad one sided?" Spencer grumbled. Inaga wasn't inclined to agree, as that would mean they probably couldn't win. But they couldn't disagree. So much for a rally on the home front.

By this time, Inaga had gone through the moves often enough that it was growing tired and old. Not even the fire and ambience could hold their spirits above sea level. Their staffs were lit and the brooding team sat in their orderly lines. Even the host seemed genuinely sympathetic.

"Well?"

"Hahaga's way too lucky," Spencer grumbled.

"You say this as though there's some cheating going on."

"Now I said nothing about cheating, is there something you'd like to say?" Spencer's eyes glittered in the firelight. Inaga had grown looser around the alien, but this went to show that they simply couldn't think him totally harmless. He looked positively fearsome.

"Only that Hahaga seems able to bring it together better than Inaga. What would you have me say?"

"That you're cheating."

**Arenas' Hangout- Night**

**--- Arenas smacked her forehead. Spencer** always was the trouble maker and now he had to question the immunity challenges. There was no end to the trouble he caused. Sighing, she decided that another finger break was in order, and sought out an Angel instead. There was one person who could make Spencer stop being a dastardly alien. Maybe not now, but definitely later.

**Inaga- Tribal Council**

**--- "Donnie, what happened out there?"** the host asked, unable to cope with Spencer's antics. It clearly wasn't the answer Spencer had been looking for, but there were always other ways of exacting revenge. He was here to win a game first, take over the Earth later, if he could believe it.

"I don't know. It seemed as though Hahaga was used to stuff like that wandering around blind... That Sands... whoa..." Donnie shook his head. There was a general murmur of assent at this, except Spencer, who snorted.

"Think you guys can pull it off tomorrow?"

"We'll have to, won't we?" Spence muttered. Donnie shot a look at Spencer that told him quite plainly to ease off. Spencer rolled his eyes and was otherwise silent.

"Okay, guys, hopefully this will be your last time voting. In order to commemorate this, I'd like to try something a bit new this time around. You've done this silly ritual time and again... isn't it time that you get a bit of a break? I sure hope you think so, because here's how this is going to work...-"

Axel glanced at Ichabod, wondering just what exactly was going on. This wasn't natural and further more, it seemed almost ominous. He wondered if there were any deals with the devil involved. Ichabod returned the stare with an equally confused one. Not good.

"We've recently held a poll online that decided which one of you got to be saved, as it were. Your prize is immunity tonight. You get your own individual immunity and cannot be voted off tonight. Only catch is, you can't decide who gets this gift, your fans do. This is exactly what happened, and the results are as such. Gilbert, Spencer, and Sam are all tied for second place. Axel, you win tonight's immunity vote. Nobody may vote for Axel this time around. With this in mind, Axel, why don't you vote first?"

The poor boy couldn't get his mind around what had just happened. That was it? His fans back home let him stay on another three days guilt free? Well... that was unexpected. Not unpleasant, but definitely unexpected. He got up, and performed his mandatory duty.

**Axel**

**--- "Well... I guess... I'm going **to have to vote for someone. Uh... yeah, I'm voting for you because it's increasingly hard to vote for anybody and I don't know you as well. I'm sorry."

**Ichabod**

**--- "I wish you luck in** your endeavors. I just don't think you were meant to be the Survivor."

**Inaga- Tribal Council**

**--- Sam filed back into his** row and nodded at the host. That was everybody. Who'd get the chop?

"I'll go tally the votes," the host announced, following the carefully planned ritual. Silence reigned thick and heavy over the council. The host's footsteps preceded him and Inaga tensed, sensing the impending axe.

"Once the votes are read, the decision is final. First vote. Sam."

It merited no reaction from Sam, but there was some throat clearing involved. The host pulled out a second slip of paper.

"Second vote. Gilbert."

Whether it was a general agreement to be strong or otherwise, nobody protested if their name was read.

"1 vote Sam, 1 vote Gilbert, 1 vote Spencer, 1 vote Ichabod. Next vote. Donnie."

Inaga hadn't encountered a split vote before. It didn't look as though it would be an issue, unfortunately, as with Axel out of the elimination, That made the next vote the crucial one.

"The third person voted out of Inaga. Gilbert."

The tension didn't ease much, but it was over for the night. 5 had survived the vote, 1 through grace and they only had 2 more votes before the merger. They hoped it wouldn't be them again, but it was hard not to be down hearted at a time like this. After a parting wave, Gilbert picked up his staff and brought it to the host.

"The tribe has spoken."

**Gilbert**

**--- "I think I should have **played it differently. Actually, I know I should have, but I can't complain now. Besides, if we'd had another vote... I think I would have let Spence have at it."

**Spencer**

**--- "I'm on to you, whoever** you are."

**Hahaga- Morning**

**--- Bon-bon was close. Bon-bon was** _very_ close. Mort was inches away, a thick rope of drool snaking its way out of the side of his mouth. Bon-bon found this utterly endearing, but it wasn't enough. But Bon-bon wanted to snuggle and knew that it could prove to be a tricksy situation if she messed up. She'd need all the girlish trickery and intellect afforded to her. Of course... she hadn't counted on the determination of some Angels when it comes to their Johnnies.

"Morty-bear... oh Morty-bear..."

Bon-bon's head whipped about in fear and suspicion. Morty-bear? _My Morty-bear!_ Something would have to be done. So she slipped a hand into Mort's magic pocket, clamped a hand around the first thing she felt and crept out of the shelter. On the fringes of Camp Hahaga was a figure in argyle calling softly for 'Morty-bear.' Bon-bon needed to act fast, lest Mort actually did wake up. She knew only too well how _that_ would end.

She circled the perimeter of the camp, trying to get behind Psnoo. _My Morty-bear!_

"Now hold up just a second there, pilgrim, I know you're there."

Bon-bon froze. How did Psnoo know that? There was no longer any point in continuing to stalk the Angel, so she stepped out of the trees, hands tucked neatly behind her back.

"You're here for... Mory-bear?"

"Don't act so hurt, your headband's hard to miss. And yes, I have to give Mort a message."

Bon-bon fingered her hot pink headband methodically, as though to reassure herself it was still stylish. That hadn't been a fair comment and now Bon-bon was seething. Psnoo would pay big time.

"Whatever you're telling Morty-bear-..." Bon-bon refused to stop the pet name- "you can tell me."

Psnoo yawned," I don't think you'd much like this message."

"Morton is asleep and you should know how impossible it is to wake him up. You can tell me or leave."

"If you're sure-..." Psnoo shrugged. "I'd like you to tell him that I tried writing recently and all I could manage was this..."

Psnoo pulled out a folded piece of paper and proffered it to Bon-bon. Without revealing what she held behind her back, Bon-bon glanced at it suspiciously before taking it in a luck luster grip.

"Also, if you wouldn't mind giving him this, I'd appreciate it." Psnoo produced a white, weighted trash bag and placed it in Bon-bon's arm. "He'll know what to do with them."

Psnoo left satisfied, knowing that Bon-bon's suspicions would make her look at the items. She didn't really have a problem letting Bon-bon play messenger girl; it was far too early for Mort (or herself for that matter) to be awake. Bon-bon's reaction alone would be enough for now.

Bon-bon brought the effects over to the campfire and contemplated tossing them in. Tricksy Psnoo, wanting Morty-bear. Bon-bon wasn't sure it was possible for Johnnies, even effeminate ones, to be Angels to other Johnnies. If it was, however, Bon-bon would push for Morty-bear and no other. Besides, who really knew? It wasn't in the Terms of Service...

Instead, she decided that Mort probably would not appreciate her destroying his mail. And if it was info on beating Inaga? Bon-bon decided she needed a peak.

Carefully unfolding the paper so as to leave little evidence, she was able to get a glimpse at the writing inside. In 5 neat columns across the page was the line 'Shooter.' Somewhere, about half way down the page, the cryptic message changed a bit. Shooter. Shoother. Shoot Her.

Bon-bon screamed, dropping the paper and whiffle ball bat that she'd planned on using as a defense and ran into the shelter. Psnoo laughed. _That'd_ teach him... her... it... whatever to mess with _her_ Morty-bear!

**Inaga- Afternoon**

**--- Axel was parked in front** of the sparkling ocean in a meditative trance. Or that's what his team was thinking as they watched their Fish Boy watching the light play off the surf. Ichabod had passed out in the sand, having recently seen a snake far too close for comfort, Donnie was tanning and Sam was playing with his hat. Spencer...

Axel never noticed when Spencer dropped down beside him. Spencer thought he'd recognized the look before, but wasn't sure he was right. At least until Axel began murmuring under his breath.

"Hello. I know I haven't listened in awhile, I'm sorry for that. It's been... crazy. I'm here now though, if you'll still talk..."

Spencer suppressed a grin and glanced back to see if anybody was looking. The diminished Inaga tribe didn't notice Axel's oddity. So Spencer shrugged and leaned in close to Axel.

"Axel... Hey, Axel! You're lookin' a little anemic! How's about you have some food?"

"I can't. We only have rice."

"That's not food. Why don't you catch some of us? Your other friends don't look too much worse for wear."

"Because it's wrong."

"But we're tasty."

"Tasty...?"

"Mhmm."

"But... what about the rest of you? Not all you could possibly want to be eaten."

Spencer tried a different, higher pitched voice, "You can eat me!"

And another, "And me!"

Axel was beginning to look mightily confused, "You all want to be eaten?"

"Sure!"

"But why now?"

"Why not?"

It was about this time the Donnie sauntered over and punched Spencer on the arm. A warning glance accompanied it, at which Spencer smirked. Axel still hadn't moved and in terms of mental stability, it probably wasn't a good sign. Spencer sighed.

"Well fine, if you're going to be a brat about it, don't eat us. We don't need you." Spencer got up and sat beside Donnie who was sitting serenely in his old spot. Donnie didn't acknowledge Spencer, letting him make the first move.

"What was wrong with having a bit of fun?"

"You don't think that it could have been a little mean spirited?"

"No."

"Then consider me your resident conscience and do as I say."

"You just don't want me to have fun."

"Whatever you say, Spence."

"You know I'm right."

"I know you're right."

"Axel told you how to get on my nerves, did he?"

"He did."

"You're all evil."

"Yes, we are evil."

**Hahaga- Afternoon**

**--- Mort had woken up late** as usual. It had taken too much effort that his team mates simply didn't want to muster to wake him up, so they'd let him be. None of the tribe could make heads or tails of Psnoo's cryptic message, though Sands and Duke (having been in enough scrapes with Mort) could hazard a few educated guesses. When Mort had finally woken up, it was Bon-bon who shoved the items in front of his face.

"What are these?" she hissed.

"Wha-?" Mort grunted.

"What. Are. These."

"Uh... well. It looks like a trash bag," Mort squinted, unable to see without his glasses. Having just woken up couldn't have helped either.

"I know that! What do you think is inside it!"

Mort tried for a snappy comeback and only managed to gape stupidly. What was going on? Why was Bon-bon being... forceful? "I... I can't say."

"Look at it! _Look at it!_"

A piece of paper was pushed into Mort's hands. Knowing he couldn't possibly face this half blind, he took out his glasses to try and makes sense of it. It looked rather like a joke prop from The Shining if Mort wanted to be honest. The Shooter's scrolled all the way down the page, morphing into the climactic 'Shoot her.' Mort didn't know where it had come from and didn't want to know. Everyone agreed that Shooter was bad; Mort wanted to believe them.

"Well?"

"I'm not familiar with it," Mort replied guardedly. "Is there a reason you're waving it at me?"

"_Psnoo_," she spat, "decided to drop by this morning. She said that _this_ is all she could come up with after a night of writing."

"Psnoo? Why would-..." Mort foundered. Psnoo wanted him to give in to Shooter? Could it be that... she was jealous? He had no clue what happened when Shooter was around, but even he couldn't imagine it'd turn out well. He didn't have a chance to question it further as the trash bag was next to be kicked forward.

"Maybe this will answer your questions."

"Bon-bon, I don't know what this is about, okay?"

"Go ahead. Take a look," Bon-bon was being awful subdued. Mort didn't want to seem overly joyous about the turn of events, but if Bon-bon no longer pined for him, Mort could imagine he'd be an overall happier person. So he opened the bag and pulled out a hat. Not just any hat, of course, but _the_ hat. Shooter's hat. Mort's breath caught in his throat. Psnoo was serious about this.

The bag wasn't totally empty yet, either. A small shake sent a little corn husk screwdriver tumbling into his lap. A note was attached:

_I'm neutral, but call it a gift. You know what to do. DB_

Who _wasn't_ a part of this conspiracy? Honestly, it was as though they all wanted to see Hahaga eliminated with screwdrivers to the head. They were insane, there was no other explanation. Mort couldn't willingly oblige—he wasn't sure he could make Shooter appear at will anyway—and he simply couldn't do that to the rest of the team. Duke's trip had been more than enough for one week.

"Bon-bon... I don't know what to say. Don't worry about it. You know Psnoo," he shrugged sheepishly, hoping to put this ugly thing behind him. Bon-bon sneered before stalking back outside. Mort sighed and flipped the hat over. He didn't think being unloved by Bon-bon would really be a bad thing, but he hadn't expected the guilt.

"Well done, mate," a voice murmured. Mort jumped, noticing Jack for the first time.

"Where'd you come from?"

"I was always here. I'd jes like t'congratulate ye on yer tactfulness. There's no shame in evasion. 'S not like ye can argue with 'em when they're riled up, anyway."

"Uh... yeah," Mort nodded weakly. What is just him, or was everybody going insane? He could say for sure, but the possibility of being hypocritical crossed his mind.

**Inaga- Night**

**--- Sam's head was pillowed on **his hands as he watched the stars on high. There was no singing to partake in tonight, so he made his own entertainment. He'd see a shooting star every once in awhile and sometimes, the occasional plane. He thought he could see the The Southern Crown constellation, among other things, and it wasn't long before Sam turned it into a game. He would trace the constellations or the paths of the stars until he grew bored with one, and moved onto another. His most recent find was bright green and moving very quickly. Towards them.

"Oh no," Sam murmured. Not good.

"Hey, Sam, you okay?" Axel asked. He had recently recovered from his encounter with the suicidal fish. He still wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but Axel really wouldn't question it. After all, he really only had experience with Alaskan halibut, so maybe fish farther south just had different tendencies. It was over at any rate, and Axel could relax while Spence was still relatively low key.

"Do you see that?" Sam asked. Axel's eyes narrowed in confusion. Sam wasn't normally terribly obscure, so Axel decided to take a look from the other man's vantage point. Axel now saw it, and wasn't at all happy.

"Oh."

"Not good?"

"Not good."

The green light approached, slowing down as it got closer. Before long, it was right over head where even Donnie, Ichabod and Spencer could see it. The green light shimmered, and began to expand to form a rectangular opening. A black silhouette was centered in the light looking inhuman and scary.

"Oh lordy..." Donnie whispered.

"Roseblood?" Spencer gasped.

"Not quite, Alien. You see... I got upped. I'm ET, your Extraterrestrial Terror," ET grinned.

"E... T...?"

"At your service. Now... Arenas tells me you're being less than perfect."

"Define less than perfect."

"Questioning the game, torturing Axel..."

"If you want to be a spoilsport, then yes, I did do those things."

"Now I'd love to see you back home as much as the next Angel, but unless you'd rather throw the game to come home with me now, I'd rather suggest you be nice. But I'd understand if you'd like to come home early anyway..."

"Anything for my... Angel." The word felt strange in his mouth, but he imagined he could get used to it.

"Keep going, you crazy alien. Work hard, play hard and don't give Arenas much more grief, okay?"

"If I must."

"See you soon, right?"

"Yes..." Spencer trailed off. Axel snickered behind him, remembering how he'd felt when Roo had sailed by the island. He couldn't wait to see Spencer make himself look cool after this.

ET winked before shuffling backwards as the green light diminished again. The ship climbed, and flew away. Spencer hadn't moved.

"Congrats," Sam smiled.

"Yes..."

Donnie laughed, "Shocked?"

"That'd be my guess," Axel grinned.

"An educated one," Ichabod nodded.

Spencer curled up by the fire and stared at it for the rest of the night.

**Hahaga- Morning**

**--- The majority of Hahaga that** had wisely stayed out of Bon-bon's way yesterday were the first to wake up today. Sands and Fred kept their distance while Duke would take an occasional sip out of an unmarked bottle and Edward tried to master the use of the wooden utensils. It was a fairly quiet morning as far as they went.

"Good mornin'," Mort smiled pleasantly as he joined the loose circle. Sands glanced at Mort, knowing something was wrong.

"Hi," Fred replied, not looking up. Food was food, and it was starting to become hard to get enthusiastic about it. Duke grunted, engrossed with his typewriter. Edward offered a smile, ever the friendly type. Sands remained suspicious.

"You okay, pilgrim? You look like you seen a ghost."

"Well, I'd feel better if we have a talk," Sands inclined his head, having just pinpointed the source of his unease.

"Iffin ye'd like," Mort shrugged. Sands got up and pointed the way into the bush. Mort didn't argue. It was 50 yards in that Sands decided to talk.

"All right, Shooter, I see you took the note to heart. Listen, I don't know what Psnoo had in mind, but I'd really like to see that you don't kill any of us, savvy? Not even Bon-bon."

"Why would Ah kill that purdy little thing?" Shooter looked affronted.

"You don't...?" Sands immediately put his hands up in a non-threatening gesture, "Never mind. I don't want to know. Just... don't get trigger happy. Or whatever the equivalent is in handyman terms. Otherwise, I will be forced to take drastic measures: measures you definitely won't like."

"Yer threatenin' me?"

"You could say that," Sands cocked an eyebrow.

"Ah don't appreciate it when people threaten me."

"Well, likewise, Mr. Shooter. So be careful what you take out of that pocket, savvy? Unless I find your attempt to make dinner some night a little too good."

Sands promptly turned and walked away. After an encounter like that, Shooter couldn't help but follow, wondering whether it was worth the trouble to disobey Sands if it meant losing a little more of Bon-bon. At this moment, Bon-bon's love for Mort was tentative at best; Shooter didn't want to push it.

When he broke the trees, Bon-bon was already at the fire eating breakfast. Shooter paused, wondering what the Mort-like thing to do would be. Bon-bon seemed to dislike Shooter, but if he could pretend to be Mort and rectify the situation... maybe he'd have a chance. So he sat across from her and tried to ignore her. Tried.

"Did Sands just ream you?" Fred asked quietly. Shooter started and very nearly fell off his log. He really had to stop watching Bon-bon so intently; it'd cut down on incidents like these. Shooter affected a John Wayne-esque squint before turning to Fred.

"Wha's it tuh you?"

"Because Sands is not being sportsmanlike. If he's causing individual problems, maybe it's time he gets voted out, you know?"

"Are ye suggestin' what Ah think yer suggestin'?"

"Only if you drop that accent. It doesn't do you justice," Fred cocked his head.

"'S just the way Ah talk, pilgrim, Ah ain't talked any othuh way."

"Whatever, but think about it, okay? Okay? Mort?"

"Wha-?" Shooter had been trying to sneak glances at Bon-bon while trying to keep up the conversation. The last time he'd glanced away, Bon-bon had found time to finish breakfast and sneak off. Fred had caught him by surprise (again) and now Shooter was at a total loss.

"I can see you're busy. Another time then," Fred's gaze became quizzical as he returned to his own food still in the process of being eaten. Shooter sighed, wondering if Mort really was this popular in real life or if it was something in the water.

**Inaga- Morning**

**--- Spencer was still huddled in** the same position as the night before. For all appearances, he seemed to be taking the shock of having an Angel a little harshly. Ichabod decided to investigate.

"Spencer! You've been moping all morning, what's wrong?"

Spencer's face became a myriad of different expressions, anger, confusion, sheepishness and submissiveness among them. He bit his lip and whispered, "I'm being good."

"What?" Ichabod replied more out of reflex than a lack of hearing.

"I'm being good," Spencer gritted his teeth.

"Uh... I don't think ET really meant for you to be... like... this..." Ichabod, to his credit, did not laugh. He probably had more reason than anyone, but it wasn't in his nature. Besides, a moping Spencer meant low morale and a worse performance at challenges than normal. And Inaga needed all the help they could get.

"But she said not to cause trouble."

"Spencer... she meant don't be evil. Lying here like some dead dog is not what she had in mind."

"But... what can I do then?"

"You don't know what it means to be good?"

"Alien," he muttered.

"You have no morals or a conscience because you're an alien and haven't learned them."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"We got more mail. And it sounds like a perfectly annoying challenge," Donnie announced, appearing from the row of trees. Ichabod looked up as Spencer pulled tighter into his protective ball.

"What's wrong with him?" Donnie murmured.

"Last night," Ichabod shrugged.

"I see. Well, take a look at this, see what you think," Donnie offered the day's clue.

_The goal of any Survivor_

_To escape the island like MacGyver_

_Use what you own_

_True artistic genus must be shown_

_Attract attention to your site_

_And above your camp, a prize in flight_

"How very... strange," Ichabod frowned in thought.

"No kidding. So uh... draw attention to our site? Camp?"

"I think so. How are we going to do that?"

"You're the scientist, got any ideas?"

"Well... one of the most easily visible things to see in the day time is black smoke."

"And how do you propose we get this black smoke?"

"Well, we take our-..."

**Hahaga- Afternoon**

**--- "-... meat or something that just **doesn't burn cleanly and dump it in the fire. Build it up nice and high and hopefully uh... someone will see it," Sands shrugged.

"You're proposing we throw our meat into a one time fire to win a reward challenge," Fred replied flatly.

"Not the rum! Don't burn the rum!" Jack cried.

"What rum?" Fred turned.

"Ye burned it already!? How _could_ ye, ye scurvy dogs!?" Jack wailed.

"You drank all mine, you pig," Duke grumbled. Sands prodded him in the side with a 'Watch it' stare.

"Maybe not meat, but definitely black smoke. Lots of action. Possibility of winning," the agent nodded.

"What else is there?" Fred asked.

"I don't rightly know. You're the one who nixed my other idea. Besides, maybe it's better to sacrifice the last reward for this one."

"No way! We've gotta' make that last! Do you know how much rice we've had over these past 14 days?" Fred all but shrieked.

"If you hadn't noticed, I've had just as much as you and you don't hear me complaining," Sands eyes narrowed.

"Well aren't you special?" Fred sneered.

Sands rolled his eyes, "You know what? You organize this dance number. I'm... _tired_... of arguing with you. If I hadn't been de-armed, there would have been some issues long before this, so please don't think I'm trying to show restraint. So... I'm not going to fight anymore. Go ahead, Fred, boss us around. I'm not going to stop you. I doubt I'll take kindly to most of your commands, but by all means try to organize us into a formidable fighting force."

Fred gaped, "You're giving up?"

"I never said that. I just refuse to take your carp any longer. So spare me your tears. Tell us what to do if your way is better than ours."

"Uh... well... We need color. Lots of color. What did everyone bring to this place anyway?"

"Scissor sharpeners," Edward whispered shyly.

"A magic pocket," Shooter replied, trying to hide his southern accent. It didn't quite work, but he was getting better.

"Literature," Bon-bon added.

"My case," Duke arched a brow.

"Me pistol with one shot," Jack announced proudly.

"I had guns but they got taken so that would leave me with shoulder holsters and a gun belt," Sands twitched.

"Okay. Uh... Mort, can you get paint?"

"If'n I had to," Shooter nodded. Bon-bon glanced at him, wondering just what kind of a trick he was pulling and decided it was better if she didn't know. She and Mort definitely needed some 'alone time.'

"Well, I guess we should start, right?"

"Eh," Hahaga shrugged.

"Right?" Fred asked again, shoulders slumping.

**Inaga- Afternoon**

**--- "Right," Ichabod, Axel, and Sam **grinned. Spencer was trying to get over his phobia of being evil and had little to say, but the rest of Inaga was psyched. They would sacrifice their fish for the blackest fire they could make. They weren't too worried about a meat shortage, they could always catch more. They wanted a reward.

"We've got to get their attention some other way too. Something moving otherwise it just might look like some kind of brush fire," Donnie mused.

"What about our flag? Take it out of the ground and run around with it?" Ichabod replied.

"Yeah, why not? Orange is a good color. Maybe some of our brighter clothing too. Sam, you want to take care of the movement?"

"Okay," Sam nodded.

"Axel, you may as well help Sam, I know how you feel about fish-..."

"No, I'll help where I'm needed," Axel shook his head.

"Just the same, Sam might need help. Ichabod's good in this field. If you can, see if you can get Spencer to help you too. It shouldn't take much to get this fire big."

"Alright," Axel smiled.

"Hop to it!"

**Official Survivor Chopper- Afternoon**

**--- The helicopter swept in low **over Easter Island. The challenge had been to get the tribes to stand out and the one who attracted attention the best would win the reward. To help judge the best tribe was a guest trained in the art of rescuing people caught in the middle of the ocean. The first tribe was Hahaga on the north side of the island.

"Alright, I don't see anything immediate jumping out at me," he kept up a running commentary. "I see some movement, but nothing extraordinary. There seems to be some light though; I see a fire, but it burns too clean to really be effective. There's no smoke. I think there's light being reflected off some sunglasses or something metal, but I can't be sure. It's more blinding than helpful but I can tell they're there now. There's no way I wouldn't have known to look over there if I hadn't been told to. Over all, not that effective. Hahaga gets an... a C. We're going to see Inaga next, and hope they've got something better."

The copter moved west lazily, not really in any hurry. Suspense was far more fun than quick relief anyway. The southwestern sector of the island was Inaga camp, and it seemed to be in great distress.

"Oh wow... great big black column of smoke. If it's Inaga, kudos to them. It got my attention and it makes me want to go fast in case someone's injured or there was a crash of some sort. All right, we're coming around now, and I see two people running up and down the beach with a flag. The flag doesn't really show up against the sand that well, but the three other people waving clothing do more than make up for it. Yes, this is definitely eye catching, I can see them from far away, I could go find them if I had to without coordinates. Inaga wins immunity big time. We're jettisoning the reward as I speak. Congrats, Inaga, you earned it."

**Inaga- Afternoon**

**--- "Is he flying away? He's** flying away, isn't he?" Ichabod murmured, visibly slumping. Inaga seemed to share this sentiment, not liking that their efforts and fish had been wasted. Inaga had liked working together sure enough, despite Spencer's moodiness, but there was still an undertone of depression. Inaga sure hoped Hahaga had some impressive display; they wouldn't have to feel so bad then.

Axel sat down hard in the sand, trying to get over his disappointment. It was going to be another long 3 days, he could tell. Maybe Spencer was right.

"Hey! Hey, guys, look! The chopper's coming around again! It's coming straight for us!" Donnie yelled. Axel shaded his eyes, trying to see if Donnie had seen something he hadn't. He couldn't get his hopes up, but if Donnie wasn't lying...

"General Brasco, you're being optimistic again," Spencer grumbled.

"No, really, look!" Donnie pointed into the sun.

There it was. The silver helicopter was indeed wheeling about in a slow arc. It was coming in closer, much like last night's UFO. A door was kicked open and a box shoved out. Before it could plummet into the sand, a parachute whipped open, slowing its descent. On it was the still wet Suvivor logo in Inaga colors.

The team began to tear at the box, unable to wait for the copter to leave. Inside, was a set of water jugs, some bowls, silverware, and fresh fruit. Lots of fresh fruit.

General Brasco and Commander Armacost were seen sharing a brotherly hug while Sam, Ichy and Axel were positively giddy in their own rights. Celebration time and gosh darn it, Spencer was going to sing!

**Hahaga- Afternoon**

**--- "Well that was anticlimactic," Fred** murmured as the chopper flew away. Sands bit down a sharp retort and took several deep breaths. He'd wanted to win, but teaching Fred a lesson had been the ulterior motive. His favorite excuse, 'I don't lose, I just chose not to win' wouldn't help him this time.

"I want my sunglasses back," Duke glared at Fred who returned them without a protest.

"We... um... tried," Fred shrugged.

"'N we didn't burn th'rum!" Jack nodded.

"And that just makes it all right then, doesn't it?" Sands rolled his eyes, unable to stay quiet. Fred didn't notice and nobody was really in a position to reprimand him, Shooter being taken with Bon-bon, Duke with his case and Jack with the empty bottle of rum from several days before.

"I guess we might as well just treat this like any other day," Fred frowned and sighed. Total reign of the challenge probably hadn't been a good thing. He couldn't blame Sands for being annoyed but... he really got under the skin. Fred shook his head, took his shirt off and went for a swim. He refused to think on the subject again until someone forced him to.

**Inaga- Night**

**--- It was one of the** few night that Inaga's campfire was a good place to be. There was good food, good company... why, one could almost mistake it for The Olive Garden al aire. Then again, The Olive Garden staff never played these songs for anyone's birthday.

"99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer! Take one down and pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall!"

The crickets added nice harmony against the ocean and the tenor chorus gathered in a circle. Again, there was one spoilsport who refused to participate, pleading an ignorance of the songs. Donnie punched him after every chorus as a motivating factor. Spencer sighed. Did they _always_ have to celebrate _everything_? The 4 men had gotten down to 46 bottles by the time Spencer began to join in (albeit very reluctantly). Donnie refused to make a big deal of it, in case he spooked Spencer inadvertently. That just wouldn't do.

"2 bottles of beer on the wall, 2 bottles of beer! Take one down and pass it around, 1 bottle of beer on the wall! 1 bottle of beer on the wall, 1 bottle of beer! Take it down and pass it around, no more bottles of beer on the wall!"

There was cheering and clapping and general congratulations. Spencer seemed bolstered by the success of this strange song and mustered the courage to start a new sing along.

"This one... is very, very popular on my home planet. I don't know it's origins, maybe you do. It's not that hard so you can probably pick up on it. It's fairly straight forward." Spencer cleared his throat, and began the song...

"A weembuwuh, a weembuwuh, a weebuwuh, a weebuhwuh... Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee aweeeeumbumbuwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!!"

Donnie's brows narrowed; he recognized the song... but from where? Sam's eyes, in contrast, were wide as dinner plates. What was this mad man doing?

"_In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps toniiiiiiiiiiiiight. In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps toniiiiiiiiiiiiiiight..."_

Donnie laughed. Showing no fear, he too joined in. After all, it'd look down right hypocritical if he didn't practice what he preached. It wasn't as though it were a chore anyway and soon, the night was filled with five strong voices singing any contemporary, folk or rock songs that came to mind. It was a much needed pick-me-up from the rigors of island survival and for once, everybody was at ease.

**Hahaga- Morning**

**--- Shooter woke up again. He **had no idea where his worse half had wandered off to and could guess that a prolonged absence wouldn't be a good thing. If people (sans Sands) began to suspect who he was... what would Psnoo say? He would be back on the strict regimen of Doritos and Mountain Dew, that much he was sure of.

Of course, Shooter still hadn't been informed of Psnoo's care package from the day before and nobody was very likely to tell him unless he found out on his own. This left Shooter somewhat perturbed, and unsure of how he could attain his goal without alerting Bon-bon to his identity. Mort wasn't very likely to suddenly start liking Bon-bon, he wasn't of that ilk. No... Mort would be best to smooth this situation over. But where was he?

Sands was up early with Jack again. Sands wouldn't talk about tribal council and Jack didn't seem inclined to talk. Lazy mornings just weren't all that engaging. Shooter didn't immediately speak, wondering what kind of mood Sands would be in. A fuss this early just wasn't all that appealing.

"Morning, sugarbutt. You're up early," Sands didn't look up. There could only be one reason 'Mort' would be awake now. His threat still stood, but he'd live and let be for the moment. Shooter seemed content going after Bon-bon for the time being anyway. That was pretty harmless.

"Sugarbutt?"

"Sure," he murmured.

"Is that like that 'carp' thing?"

"Exactly."

"Oh."

Shooter glanced at the ground. Well... that had been interesting hadn't it?

**Shooter**

**--- "Ah just don't know what** Ah'm doin' wrong. Bon-bon don't love me, all the wrong people are tryin' t'conspire with me... Why's the uppity Inspector tryin' to work with me? 'N why's Sands putting me down? Ah just don't get it."

**Sands**

**--- "Mort better resurface soon. That** accent's seriously grating one my nerves."

**Jack**

**--- "I think I overcooked th'rice. **'S a little sticky. Where's Mr. Gibbs when you need him?"

**Inaga- Midmorning**

**--- "I hope you guys are **good shots. This is going to be an interesting challenge," Axel called, announcing his presence to the gathered Inaga.

_Elimination_

_Shoot your rivals plates down with_

_A bow an arrow._

"Good, subtlety just wasn't their strong point," Spencer rolled his eyes.

"You're one to talk," Donnie smirked.

"I am, General Brasco. Someone had to say it, why not me?" Spencer grinned. One could barely recognize the malicious, water-fearing alien from 15 days before.

"Good point."

"Hey, we can practice!" Sam cried, holding up the bow and 2 different arrows.

"That's it? Hm... It's going to be a bit hard to get every one to practice, but we can do it. Who wants to go first?" Donnie scratched his chin in thought.

"Perhaps I'd better. I should think we'd triumph if the less physical among us practiced a bit longer," Ichabod replied.

Sam shrugged, "Then I probably should, too."

"We could do it like a game of Knockout," Axel offered. "If the person behind you gets a bulls eye before you, you're out. You know the game? We can't really have two people shoot at once, but this way will make it more concentration based which the real challenge will be. Make it fun and not dull."

"Fish boy, your genius is showing," Spencer spoke up. Axel blushed and grinned.

"That's Inaga spirit if there ever was," Donnie announced proudly.

**Donnie**

**--- "I bet we have a** shot. I really do. Perhaps even more so than the last challenge and that one was looking good. I hope so."

**Spencer**

**--- "This being nice business is** evil, but... I dunno. I think they're changing me. I should be angry... but I'm not."

**Inaga- Aftenoon**

**--- Several rousing matches later, Ichabod**, Sam, Axel, Donnie and Spencer were ready for the challenge. It didn't matter that they'd known next to nothing about archery beforehand, Axel's game had done the trick. As a team, they were now able to hit a bulls eye just about every other time. Beat that Hahaga!

There were the orange and green mats in the clearing as usual, and there was Hahaga, waiting patiently. In the forest, Inaga could see brightly colored plates, almost 20 per team hung in different locations from the trees. There were bows and arrows in team colors by each mat.

"Welcome Inaga, congratulations on your reward challenge. This event, as you could guess from your clues, is fairly straight forward. Shoot your opponent's plates with your bow and arrows. If you shoot your own off, that's your own problem. Everybody will participate in this challenge, only one shooter from each team at a time. You must shoot from behind the line or it doesn't count. Survivors, are you ready?"

If nothing else could be said about the host, is that he didn't (usually) fool around. Inaga's first shot, Axel was paired with Hahaga's first, Bon-bon.

"Survivors, nock your arrows. Pull. Release!"

Bon-bon's arrow smacked him in the face as the string twanged harshly. Axel's soared neatly into the trees and snapped a green dish in two.

"Inaga, well done! Inaga's broken a plate. Next shooters, line yourselves up!"

"I don't get a second chance?" Bon-bon cried.

"Nope, one chance per turn."

"You insufferable-...!"

Shooter pulled her back into the group quietly with a firm arm on her shoulder.

"Nock! Pull! Release!"

Fred's and Spencer's arrows flew into the trees, both arrows snagging a different green plate.

"Hahaga, you shot your own plate!"

Fred swore under his breath and returned to Hahaga. Spencer returned to high fives and congrats.

"Nock! Pull! Release!"

An orange plate shattered.

"Nock! Pull! Release!"

A green and and orange met their fate.

"Nock! Pull! Release!"

Another green bit the dust.

It was clear who was dominating the challenge. Either Hahaga really could not master the bows, or they just hadn't practiced. Judging by the sour looks, it was more than likely the latter. Soon, there were 7 orange plates left and one single green plate.

"Nock!"

Ichabod and Shooter fitted their arrows.

"Pull!"

Ichabod and Shooter drew their elbows back.

"Release!"

There was a loud crack. Two plates, one green and one orange, fell to the forest floor simultaneously.

"Inaga wins immunity!"


	7. Revenge of ShPsnoo

**Title:** Johnny Survivor

**Rating:** Borderline PG/ PG-13. You'll see.

**Summary: **(The first 3 chapter summaries give you the gist.) There's going to be some more unexpected insanity this chapter around and if you haven't gotten around to at least browsing JA, you're going to have a bit of a time with this chapter. Lots more angels to meet, one less Johnny on the island. I also fear we're crossing into the realm of romance...

**Disclaimer:** I own... um... the AIM that helped write part of this chapter.

**Author's Notes:** Special super thanks to DB and Psnoo for staying up late for creativity's sake. And for all of you still reading this fic. And for those of you poor sots who had to sit and wait for the writer's strike to end before this update. For the non-JAer's, I'll try to explain a bit without taking away from the story, but I'd still take it at face value. We're a strange bunch. And the audience participation was... abundant.

**Revenge of Sh-Psnoo**

**Background into Events of this Chapter**

**--- Ever the troublemakers (though they** often pretend otherwise), SS and AJB decided they needed to have some fun. Fun that included theft. Of course, it couldn't be an unimportant object nobody would miss, or even an object that could be easily replaced. It was a couch. The couch that had been in residence at Mort and Psnoo's cabin for as long as anyone could remember. Not twelve hours later, the majority of JA was in a panic. Influential writers were rounded up and told to strike, Johnnies became abducted and mayhem ensued. Thus begins our sad, sad tale...

**Hahaga- Tribal Council**

**--- It was Hahaga's second Tribal** Council of the game. They couldn't complain but... yes they could.

Bon-bon was still upset with Mort and Shooter was still apprehensive about Bon-bon's state of mind. Sands' cigarette supply was dwindling rapidly as was Duke's. Captain Jack was succumbing to severe sobriety, Edward, to fear, and Fred, to paranoia.

"It's nobody's fault we lost. Nobody's at all. Nope, definitely not mine," Fred would mutter under his breath. Hahaga would diligently ignore these statements for as long as it would take for them to reach the clearing. Then his Miranda rights would go right out the window.

"Hahaga, welcome to the council. You've done this once before so I don't believe a recap is in order. Tell me though... what went wrong with that last challenge? Anything in particular or...? Duke?"

"Well ah... I'm no expert on primitive weapons and ah... it... there were all sorts of factors. Wind velocity, sunlight, distance, you understand."

"Why couldn't you practice with the bow and arrows provided?"

"There were arrows?" Shooter asked blankly.

"There should have been, in the quiver beneath the mail maoi."

"There was a quiver...?" Fred asked weakly. Oh boy.

**Fred**

**---"I guess it was my** fault. I... I don't know what to say. I hadn't been looking for arrows. If they'd been grapes I would have been all over them, you can bet I would. But arrows? How archaic can you get?"

**Hahaga- Tribal Council**

**--- "-... so we can deduce that **you never got to practice, right? Well, it's understandable. You didn't do at all bad for a lack of prior experience. However, it simply wasn't good enough, and I'm sorry about that. I would like to discuss a new feature for Tribal Council though if you'll lend your ears this way. Recently, the establishment's decided that they'd like to try something new for this portion of the show. Something about boosting audience participation and ratings. Anyway, the viewers at home get to decide the fate of one lucky Survivor. The chosen Survivor gets to leave tonight a happy man having been immune to tonight's vote. You heard right, the audience chooses the Survivor they'd like to see win immunity for the night. This go round... the viewers have spoken. Bon-bon wins immunity tonight."

Bon-bon looked rather speechless. The audience... _liked_ her? When did this happen? Not that she'd given them (much) reason to dislike her, but she hadn't really thought of the audience as an entity. They'd never really existed before now. Bon-bon managed to nod and smile faintly.

"With that in mind, you may as well vote first. You may vote for anyone, however, nobody may vote you off, understand? Bon-bon... do the honors?"

"Well... all right..."

Bon-bon rose from her uncomfortable seat stiffly and walked to the voting area. This was far too surreal but she'd take it in stride as with everything else.

**Bon-bon**

**--- "I should vote Morty-bear out **for scaring me like that. But I won't, I love him far too much. So... I suppose I shall choose my second choice. You need to lighten up. You look as though you're smuggling something far too large for you. Start small. Don't sweat the large stuff. It makes you smell and therefore unappealing. You're just gotta' learn to appreciate everyone's capabilities. And... that's why I'm voting for you."

**Sands**

**--- "Shooter... I don't like you**, let's just face facts here. In fact... I think I'd vote you off if I didn't think it'd be unfair to Mort. However, there are bigger issues at hand right now. You lucked out."

**Fred**

**--- "This game's just lost its** luster. I miss Iggy. Well... I guess for old time's sake, buddy... it's going to be you."

**Hahaga- Tribal Council**

**--- Edward returned with an ink **stained index scissor and sat down again. It was time to find out. Who'd get the chop this time?

"I'll go tally the votes," the host announced quietly and shuffled off to get the pot. Hahaga could relate and waited patiently for the return. Or perhaps it wasn't patiently so much as it was slightly fearfully.

"All right you guys, you know the drill. Once the votes are read, the decision is final and the person will be asked to leave Tribal Council immediately. Good luck to all of you."

There were several sideways glances exchanged among the ranks.

"First vote is... Fred."

If it was possible Fred slumped even lower in his seat.

"Second vote. Fred."

His eyes shut tight.

"Third. Fred."

He stopped breathing.

"Fourth. Edward."

Edward didn't look at all hurt, just slightly confused. Fred's breath was leaking out in a hiss.

"The next person voted off Survivor: Rapa Nui. Fred Abberline."

Fred sighed as the last necessary vote was turned for all to see. Of course all the rational people would be kicked out of this tribe first. It wasn't good to be terribly sane in a scene like this. They'd gang up on you. Even if it was kind of your fault.

The host gestured slightly. "Bring me your torch."

Fred took a stance in front of the host and proffered his staff for snuffing.

"The tribe has spoken."

The flame went out, and Hahaga was down another man.

**Inaga- Early morning**

**--- Several members of Inaga were** up early. In fact, they were to be witnesses to a perfectly strange (though probably not so much anymore) scene. DB and Raphael broke through the foliage and stumbled into camp. Donnie swallowed his mouthful of rice before he choked while Axel and Spencer watched quietly. Raphael seemed less than pleased.

"But DB, _why_?"

"Because I'm Primera's 'kick. And that's Psnoo to you. Besides, I happen to appreciate a bit of mischief. And consider who your Angel is before you berate me," DB smirked.

"But I was happy at home! I want to go back to the teepee! What if SS becomes sucked in by... _James_' fandom again?"

"I know that was just a set up, Raphael."

"Not entirely," he muttered.

"I think she's tied up with the couch at the moment, I wouldn't worry too much."

Raphael sighed. It seemed as though he was going stay on the island for awhile, for good or ill. DB noticed that Raphael had been stopped for a minute and decided to test the waters, so to speak.

"Cuidado... piso... oh carp... none of you are Unangeled anymore. Spencer! Ichy! Someone throw my a bone here!"

"Mojado?" Spencer drawled.

"Ah, Spence, thanks. You're going to have a visitor for awhile. You all remember Raphael, don't you?"

"I don't want to, DB!"

"Don't make me use this," DB nudged a gun against Raphael's thigh.

"That's a water gun, isn't it?"

"Don't tell me Arenas switched them _again_..." DB ran a hand over the supposed gun. Sure enough, there was the water intake hole. After a bit of cursing the tricksy Agente, DB sighed dramatically. "Yes. I'll squirt you and make you wet. Now will you cooperate?"

"Why hasn't SS come for me yet...?" Raphael whispered. DB, being of spectacular hearing, took pity on the boy. Slightly.

"Don't you want to hang at the camp for a bit? Do Psnoo a favor and convince SS to return the couch?"

"I don't know why it's such a big deal. It's a couch," Raphael snorted.

"Have you ever been attached to something so much that you're prepared to launch a paintball and screwdriver attack on your friends if they took it from you?"

"I'm not sure I can make that claim."

"Then take it on faith. It's not _just_ a couch. It's _Psnoo_'scouch and it had to be returned before anymore havoc can be wreaked for one week."

Raphael sighed. Seeing no other opening but the one ahead of him, he went to go sit beside Axel and Donnie at the fire. There were no malicious comments or wary glances. Just the calm, tanned faces of his former comrades. A couple even managed to smile.

"Raphael, you're visiting," Axel grinned. "We'd have a place for you if we'd known, but at least it won't be terribly uncomfortable."

"No, it's... it's okay. I don't plan on staying... long..." Raphael was slapped on the back by Donnie. On the whole, this Inaga was looking considerably more cheerful (though entirely too small by Raphael's reckoning) since he'd last seen it. Perhaps Raphael could admit a private loss for having thrown the game, but it still didn't take away from the fact that he missed SS. Not even bonding could really make him forget his adoration. Or that pesky J. M. Barrie.

DB's grip tightened on Raphael's shoulder as she stood behind him. "You hear something?"

"That's not exactly a fair question, DB, you know you've got the best hearing around," Spencer pointed out. It was when Donnie's, Axel's and Raphael's heads also came up that they realized something could very well be wrong.

"It's getting closer," Axel murmured.

"And it sounds familiar. C'mon Raphael, you may just get your wish after all..."

"What do you mean, DB?" Donnie asked.

"I've been hanging around a certain Angel in Waiting long enough to recognize Wonka-brand magic when I hear it. Maybe we can come to an... understanding..."

That didn't sound at all good in Raphael's book. Not one bit. But he didn't get a choice in the matter as DB hoisted him up by the elbow and urged him forward with a poke from the water gun.

The two figures took their time navigating Easter Island's wilderness. They stopped above the ridge that overlooked Inaga's camp, watching as Donnie finished up his breakfast and Axel and Spencer talked about something.

"Like what you see?" DB asked her companion.

"Not really. They look...hungry." He cleared his throat. "Hey, you know, you guys might be wrong about this whole couch thing."

"How so?"

"Well, maybe she's doing something good to it. You know... renovating it."

DB raised an eyebrow. "She knows good and well that Mort likes the couch the way it is. Besides, whoever revamped the cabin recently already did some couch restuffing. Why would SS do it again?"

The sound that had called the duo up to the ridge was no closer than ever, attracting their attention quite effectively.

DB pulled her water pistol on Raphael and said, "Don't move a muscle. This may not be real, but they might not know that."

Raphael, confused, glanced up to see a strange, octagonal capsule flying high overhead. He grinned. "The Wonkavator. Looks like AJB and my angel got out of your little trap."

DB poked Raphael between the ribs with the muzzle of the gun.

It was Raph's turn to raise an eyebrow. "I'm not afraid of water."

"Perhaps not, but I'm a good shot. Remember, I used to be Sands' angel, sugarbutt. Just keep quiet and under cover and everything will be fine."

"You know, for being angels... you guys sure do fight a lot."

"All in good fun, my dear Johnny. All in good fun."

They hunkered down as the Wonkavator zoomed over the island. It was about this time that DB's communicator began beeping urgently.

"This had better be good news, Gabe."

"I should think it is. Though SS and AJB have located you, you may consider letting Raphael go and returning home. The couch has been recovered and the writer's strike is over."

"You're kidding," DB and Raphael replied.

"I do not kid. That's them now, I'd assume," Gabe answered in response to the low drone of the Wonkavator hovering directly overhead. DB tilted her head so as to better hear the Wonkavator trying to hide her disappointment. She wasn't eager about giving Raphael up, no matter how much he probably feared her at the moment. He was awfully fine to be around and she could assume he wasn't an eyesore either. Ah well... the Wonkavator was coming and there wasn't much she could do about it. Maybe a chat with the one who found the couch would be in order when she got back.

**Inaga- Morning**

**--- Spencer watched as the second** UFO of the week flew in over the island, though thankfully not over Inaga. That would have been a little too weird. The golden box with the glass windows lifted up again and floated away. Spencer swore that he could see people inside, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't much want to find out, either.

"Think DB and Raphael are coming back?" Ichabod asked.

"I doubt it," Donnie replied, still following the lazy flight of the gold and glass box. "I think that was their ride."

"Too bad Raphael couldn't stay. But... now what?"

"A relaxing day. We definitely need it," Spencer murmured. That was a suggesting Inaga could agree with and no impending challenge was going to change that.

**Angel Headquarters- Night**

**---Time and obligations had prevented **recent massive chat dates, but tonight proved to be a lucky one. There were no less than 8 Angels present and accounted for. And each was just a little more insane than the last.

"I HAVE MY COUCH!!!" Psnoo beamed triumphantly. She had recently returned to her normal self, dropping the pseudonym "Sh-Psnoo."

"COUCH!!!" agreed DB.

"The couch is back!?" CC cried.

"GOT COUCH!!!" DB grinned.

"I do, right Arenas?" Psnoo turned.

"You've gotta claim it but otherwise, yes!" Arenas nodded.

"Okay," Psnoo replied.

"CLAIM COUCH!!!" DB yelled.

Iggy laughed. The antics of her abuela and mentor were something she hadn't seen in awhile.

"Where!!!!" Psnoo asked. The location of the couch was more than likely necessary in order to claim it. And the Angels who knew weren't helping.

"There!" Iggy pointed.

"WHERE THERE?" Psnoo was growing impatient.

"There there," Iggy replied. Deciding to elaborate, she gestured. "By the thing."

CC never needed a reason to celebrate. "Long live the couch!!!" She raised her glass in a toast.

"Arenas should do the honors," DB pointed out.

"Yes. Psnoo heart Arenas," Psnoo nodded.

Arenas blushed, "Me? Well ah... viva la sofa!"

This was the main topic of conversation for the early part of the evening, though as with most conversations, it became slightly off kilter. Among these tangents included which color people were, corn products, megalomania, the eradication of smart alecks and the Aflak duck. The latter was what set up this next chain of events.

"AFLAK!" yelled Psnoo.

"Psnoo...you okay?" DB turned towards her mentor and former sidekick. "You're quacking up."

"Hmm?" Psnoo asked. DB just laughed.

"What?" Psnoo asked, genuinely confused.

"She's gone ducky, DB," FF replied, helping the cause.

"I have no idea what you guys are talking about," Psnoo huffed.

"Gah! Now she's quoting Bon-Bon. This can't be good," DB shook her head. This elicited an instantaneous response from Psnoo.

"Bon-bon!!!" she glared. DB snickered, glad to hear the reaction. Arenas' mind had been wandering though, and found she'd missed something vital. Something that probably had to do with her story.

"Whoa, wait, what!?" she cried, somewhat annoyed. Psnoo wasn't going to give an answer. She grabbed up her screwdriver and raced for chat room door. DB, while it had all been fun and games for awhile, now it was getting serious.

"Gah! Somebody stop her!"

"I missed something, didn't I?" Arenas sighed.

DB backtracked, hoping to get to the bottom of the issue. "Well, she "AFLAK"ed and then she quoted Bon-Bon."

"And now Bon-Bon's in grave danger..." Arenas guessed.

"I think she's losing it," DB admitted. Iggy laughed. DB didn't share this amusement and promptly duct taped Psnoo to a chair.

"Noooooo!" Psnoo cried, squirming like mad.

"That oughtta do it," DB clapped her hands. "Bon Bon's my responsibility after all."

Psnoo felt the need to explain her actions. "MY MORTYBEAR!!! MINE!!!"

"Yes, dear. Yes, we know!" DB raised her hands nonthreateningly.

"Ahh... now I follow," Arenas nodded.

"Bon-Bon needs to learn to keep her hands to herself," Iggy stated.

"She/He does," FF agreed.

"I'm sure Arenas won't let anything happen to him." DB was still talking to Psnoo. A calm Psnoo was no Sh-Psnoo.

"KEEP YOUR SHMAN HANDS OFF HIM!!! SHOOT HER!!!" Psnoo screamed. DB couldn't hide it anymore and laughed.

"Shman?" FF asked.

"SHOOT HER!!!" Psnoo yelled in answer. It was Iggy's turn to giggle.

"Shemale," DB offered.

"Shooter doesn't want to shoot her," Arenas pointed out.

"He cant shoot her... that would be one less for Hahaga," Iggy shook her head. Hahaga had to win. That was her team!

"GRRRR... SHOOT HER!!!" Psnoo wasn't buying.

"And mort won't shoot her... he's too nice," Arenas continued thoughtfully. Iggy had been thinking along the same lines.

"Mort's too nice."

This didn't seem to deter Psnoo a bit. "I'LL SHOOT HER!!!"

"Ha, you stole my words Arenas," Iggy grinned, unconcerned with the last outburst.

"Arenas, _do_ something! Assure her!" DB was still worried for Bon-bon.

"Carp, I love all of you, but you people are distracting! I'm off to write fanfic for awhile," FF shook her head and got up. Whether it was the distraction factor or otherwise couldn't honestly be said. While FF was causing a small distraction, Psnoo was defying her duct tape bonds and reaching for her magic back pocket. The interdementional one.

"No!" DB cried. Iggy tackled her loving mentor in the hopes of preventing her escape to Rapa Nui. After all, abuelas top mentors any day. Tricksy Psnoo wouldn't stand for it and used her next tool. She closed eyes and imagined herself on Easter Island.

"GAH!" DB yelled.

Arenas smacked her forehead, not liking where this was going.

"Holy carp," DB moaned. "Cut to the chase, then..." Without further ado, DB too imagined herself to Easter Island to prevent an atrocity. Psnoo was already there and searching out the object of her antipathy.

"Bon-bon..." Psnoo called. "Boooooon-boooooooon... Mortybear... Mortybear... Ah's lookin' for you... Mortybear, let's go swimming... We'll bring Bon Bon..." Had anybody close enough to witness been able to see her, they would have noticed a positively evil and devilish smile on her face. But her soft inquiries didn't fall on deaf ears.

**Hahaga- Afternoon**

Mort had been sleeping soundly. Had been. Then something began to tug at the back of his mind. Something he didn't want to deal with this early in the afternoon. He groaned. "Go'way... wanna sleep."

Psnoo, being of sound hearing managed to locate the man of her dreams. "MORT!!!"

"Bon Bon! Where are ya, girl?" DB was on a slightly different mission. Save the Unangeled, worry about Sh-Psnoo later. It was just as well, Psnoo was content with her Mortybear for the moment and therefore out of trouble. Mort still hadn't woken up, so Psnoo took the initiative and glomped him soundly.

DB managed to find Hahaga, but in a slightly different manner. She crash landed on one of the tribesmen. Sands managed to muffle his swear enough to render him unintelligible. Before long, he could speak without too much pain in his voice.

"What where what in the world?"

"Not now, darlin'!" DB cried, patting him on the shoulder before scrambling up again.

Mort sensed the urgency of the shouts, but was still reluctant to wake up. He was having the nicest dream of Psnoo. So he rolled over and tried to sleep some more. "Don't make me get... get... get... the..." he yawned. "...screwdriver."

Psnoo wouldn't give up that easily. She began to rain light kisses down on _her_ Mortybear. Let him sleep through that. Just in case, she called his name for good measure.

DB was thinking fast. Her trusty identification call to the rescue: "CUIDADO PISO..."

"MOJADO!" Bon-bon cried happily. DB sighed with relief and stumbled towards Bon-bon to make sure everything was alright. Psnoo was still trying to persuade Mort that it was okay to wake up sometimes.

"Morty, it's me!!!" she cried between kisses. No Johnny can resist a persistent Angel.

Mort yawned again. "Hm...? Psnoo?"

Psnoo was elated. "MORTYBEAR!!!" She then proceeded to squee. Really loudly. Bon-bon twitched.

"What is going on here?"

DB shook her head, "Um...nothing...nothing you need worry about, BB."

"Mortybear..." Psnoo sighed happily.

"What're'you doin here?" Mort slurred.

"You'll never believe what happened," Psnoo whispered. "SS stole our couch!"

"SS? She wouldn't," Mort cocked his head.

DB leaned in close to Bon-bon for extra emphasis. "You...um....you may want to stay away from Shooter...I mean...Mort for a while."

Luckily, Psnoo was still infatuated with Mort. "She did!"

Bon-bon turned to DB, "Whatever do you mean?"

"So I convinced all the writes to go on strike..." Psnoo continued as Mort looked on with astonishment.

"You know...the amorous overtones," DB whispered conspiratorially.

"I see..." Bon-bon's eyes narrowed.

"... I had to go Sh-Psnoo on her before Arenas found it for us," Psnoo nodded to Mort.

"I think Psnoo's gone a bit psycho about the whole Mortybear thing, see?" DB gestured to the pair huddled close together.

"Did you get the screwdriver?" Mort asked.

"... and I'm worried about your safety," DB finished.

"No, no screwdriver," Psnoo shook her head. "But I threatened. Like I said, Arenas found it in my own introduction thread-..."

Bon-bon rolled her eyes at the display. She didn't even bother to whisper. "She's obviously deprived. I mean... what girl wouldn't want a perfectly hunky, mussed up Mort all for themselves?"

Psnoo noticed. Psnoo didn't like shemales talking quite like that.

"Uh...keep your voice down," DB muttered having heard the awkward silence.

"Why should I?" Bon-bon drew back, outrage in her eyes. "I love Mortybear! I want him!"

Psnoo tactfully decided it'd be better to keep the peace when Mort was around. "Aren't you happy to see me, Mort?"

"How about...um...Jack? Or Sands?" DB smiled slightly, trying to get Bon-bon off the touchy subject or perhaps change her mind.

"I brought corn!" Psnoo nodded.

"Of course I'm happy to see you. Why wouldn't I be?" Mort asked. Psnoo didn't answer, just start kissing him lightly again.

"Or Edward?" DB was getting desperate. Bon-bon hadn't replied yet. "He could do your hair!"

"Jack's an alcoholic, Sands is psycho and Edward will slice me twenty different ways if I try and get close to him! No offense of course..." she added as an after thought.

"It's the last of the season I'm afraid," Psnoo sighed, trying to block out the other woman.

"Afraid of what?" Mort asked.

"It's almost winter. We won't be growing any more corn," Psnoo pointed out. "We'll have to wait until next year."

"Well..." Mort scratched his chin. "We still have enough from the harvest, don't we?"

"Listen, BB... this is a matter of life and death here," DB tried to get her conversation back on track. She didn't care about corn. She cared about Bon-bon's welfare.

"She wouldn't kill me!" Bon-bon cried indignantly.

"Morty...let's go for a walk," Psnoo looked as though she'd had enough. The last of her kisses had left them both breathless, but it wasn't quite the same with Bon-bon present.

Mort grinned, "How could I say no?"

"Oh... well... you never know..." DB wouldn't make eye contact for multiple reasons. "Listen, you're the last of the Unangeled on the island."

"I am? What happened to Gilbert?" Bon-bon snorted.

"Com'on, let's go!" Psnoo announced happily as she tugged Mort to his feet.

"Erm...oh. I probably wasn't supposed to tell you that. Arenas isn't around, is she?" DB seemed to squirm slightly.

"Oh... I suppose I could have guessed..." Bon-bon stared at the ground. DB was quiet as she listened for Psnoo and Mort walking away from the camp on their sojourn. Bon-bon was listening too and wasn't quite as thrilled.

"Buck up, girl," DB replied. "You've gotta get your head in the game!"

Down the path to the ocean, Psnoo was coming up with a perfectly evil plan. "Mortybear..." Psnoo smiled and batted her eyes. "Let's ask BB to come with us."

Mort's face drooped. He hated that shemale, why would Psnoo possibly want to inflict her misery on him now? "But... why do you want... HER to come?"

"Well... let's just say that she wouldn't be a problem for long," Psnoo's voice dripped honey and poison.

A new spark ignited in Mort's eye. "I don't think I've got an objection..."

Psnoo grinned widely and began to call to the duo still at the camp. "Oh BB..." she sang.

DB had been in the process of telling Bon-bon what she should do if she wanted to get to the final two. Bon-bon wasn't particularly interested; she was still pining after Mort.

"Here's what I want you to do," DB explained. "Get in an alliance with Sands and Jack. Use your devious mind." Psnoo's faint calls began to escalate in pitch to the point where DB couldn't ignore it any longer. "GO AWAY, PSNOO!"

"We're just going to go for a walk..." Psnoo answered entirely too cheerfully. "Mort wants you to come... BB..."

Mort decided to facilitate the process and added a whistle to Psnoo's requests. "Come out come out... wherever you are..."

DB had had quite enough. She managed to follow the sound of Psnoo's voice to her exact position and grab the out of line Angel by the ear. "Primera, back off!"

"OUCH!" Psnoo yelped.

This of course hadn't stopped Bon-bon from hearing Mort's odd change of mood. "Mortybear...? Oh Mortybear, is it you? Do you want me to come?"

Mort hesitated. "Um... yeah... please..."

DB smacked her forehead. "Good God. Now look what you've done!"

Bon-bon, however, was elated. "But of course, Mortybear!"

"Arenas is going to kill us! We're not even supposed to be here!" DB moaned. Tampering with the Johnnies was one thing, but knocking them off? Something told her that Arenas would not be using the water pistol if she caught them on the island again. This was the last thing on Psnoo's mind.

"Mort...aren't you going to defend me here?" she asked as she tried to disentangle herself from DB's iron grip. DB couldn't spare a glance for her mentor/former 'kick. Bon-bon was coming full speed to Mort.

"Bon Bon! No! Go back to the fire!" DB yelled.

Mort managed to adopt a deer in the headlights look as Bon-bon galloped ever closer. "Well... pretty soon, I won't have that option..."

Psnoo pulled free and grabbed Mort's hand. "Just try me, blondie."

"No! Mortybear needs his Bon-bon! Precious!!!" Bon-bon howled. Instead of stopping as most people would have upon seeing their love claimed by another, she continued her mad dash at Mort. DB heard the pounding footsteps and attempted to do something about them. She jumped between what she took to be Bon-bon and Mort.

"STOP!"

"Lemme at her!!!" Psnoo growled.

"SANDS!!!" DB cried in a last ditch effort. It was far too late. Bon-bon ran headlong into DB and both women went tumbling into the grass. DB yelped, unable to catch her balance. Psnoo found this utterly hilarious and collapsed, taking Mort with her.

"Oh... hmm... this is interesting..." she smirked.

"But not entirely bad..." Mort admitted.

Sands, taking his sweet time of it, made his way over to the toppled women and Mort. Instead of offering a helping hand, he stood there, arms crossed. "All right. I'm confused as anything and I want an explanation."

"Psnoo is trying to steal Mort!" DB pointed wildly in Psnoo's direction. Kind of. "She's trying to rig the game!"

"I savvy," Sands nodded thoughtfully. "But I actually admire that DB. Why should I stop her?"

"Oh, lord. What has Arenas done to you?" DB sighed, "Nevermind." She got up and brushed herself off. Sands wasn't quite finished with the conversation.

"Well, I'd say she made me into an even bigger smart aleck, thanks very much."

"Lovely." If DB had eyes to roll, she most certainly would have.

Psnoo suddenly burst out laughing, "Morty, you need to shave."

Mort's nose wrinkled. "What do you recommend I shave with? A coconut?"

"I gave you one of my pockets, thank you very much," Psnoo replied.

Bon-bon still hadn't moved from her position. In truth, she was feeling a bit put out. Why would Mortybear call her over only to have her witness his... rendezvousing with the enemy? She sniffed the tears back. "Mortybear... what is going on?"

"Bon-bon... can't you see he's taken?" DB asked quietly. "He's not worth it."

"But... the Terms of Service!" Tears were creating muddy tracks down Bon-bon's cheeks.

Mort hadn't heard Bon-bon's soft plea for attention. He stoked his stubbly chin in thought, "That's right... I think I also went swimming with that pocket..."

"Morty!" Psnoo wailed. "Did you dry it out?"

"The... the what?" DB asked, trying to follow Bon-bon's train of thought. That girl was a handful.

"The Terms of Service! It says nothing about Johnnies unable to be angels to Johnnies!"

Mort, meanwhile, was biting his lip. He had forgotten to dry the pocket out. Oh well... honesty was the best policy, so he shook his head no. Psnoo didn't look even remotely mad. She sighed, and then smiled fondly. "I have to do everything for you, don't I?"

"He already has an Angel!" DB cried exasperatedly. "Only one angel per Johnny. You know that."

"You don't hear me saying no, do you?" Mort arched an eyebrow.

"That's the way it is with creative geniuses." Psnoo remarked.

"Bon Bon, pull yourself together before Psnoo and Mort make me puke," DB grimaced. Bon-bon refused to let it go.

"It's not fair! What about Shooter? Can't _she_ have Shooter?"

Psnoo wasn't going to leave that statement hanging. She whipped around, ready to face the shemale. "They're both mine, missy. You'd best remember that."

Bon-bon would not back down. "Come here and say that!"

DB managed to give the impression of glaring at Psnoo. Bon-bon was her last shot at winning the prize and Primera or not, Psnoo would not ruin it! "Weren't you going for a walk?"

Psnoo refused to listen. She jumped up in an instant and launched herself at Bon-bon.

"Oh, good god," DB smacked her forehead. "This calls for desperate measures." Whether her next action was really effective or not was up for debate. It still stood that DB didn't mind it and Mort didn't exactly protest it either. DB grabbed Mort and kissed him soundly on the lips.

The epic catfight continued in the background. Bon-bon got in a smack or two, and Psnoo fought just as hard.

"He's _mine_ on the island, bucko!" Bon-bon hissed. Psnoo didn't answer beyond pulling out her paintball gun and plastering Bon-bon with glow-in-the-dark paint.

DB sighed and relinquished Mort. "Well, that didn't work too well. Nice, though," she added as an afterthought. She grinned evilly. "Let's try again."

"HA!" Psnoo cried triumphantly. "Now he'll see you coming from a mile away!"

"Why you little-...!" Bon-bon screeched and tackled Psnoo about the knees. The momentum from the two falling bodies carried them over to DB and Mort where they fell on top of the two kissing figures. Mort and DB managed little more than grunts from the impact. Sands, the casual observer, had more oomph to his statement.

"Gosh," he snickered. "I should charge Pay Per view rates for this."

But the fight was far from over. In the tumble, Psnoo grabbed Bon-bon's wig.

"Ha! Now where's that fire!!!" Psnoo scrambled upright and began to sprint for the Hahaga fire.

"THAT'S IT!" DB yelled. With a mighty leap, she tackled Psnoo before much more damage could be done to the wig.

"Nooooooo!!!" Psnoo wailed.

"You've gone too far, Primera!" DB growled.

Bon-bon noticed that the air was gusting a little too hard up top. With a cautious tap to her skull, she screamed and went to rip the wig out of Psnoo's hand. Bon-bon's uncoordinated attack casued her to succeed only in falling on top of DB and Psnoo.

"Have to burn the wig!" Psnoo snarled after an undignified grunt.

Sands turned to Mort who was watching the carnage with a morbid fascination. "All this over you, boyo."

"Me?" Mort looked sheepish.

"Yeah, you. You're popular now, let's face it," Sands shrugged.

"I'm not sure I like it," Mort admitted.

DB recovered from her second pig pile of the day by pulling out another roll of handy dandy duct tape. Psnoo saw it coming.

"NOOOO!!!" She began squirming and fighting like mad. DB proved the superior in the scuffle managed to duct tape her Mort in the hopes of keeping her quiet. The reaction was instantaneous.

"Mmmm... Morty..." Psnoo hummed.

"Not like that?" Sands smirked in response to Mort's hanging jaw. DB didn't bother warning Sands. She just stuck another piece of duct tape over Sands' mouth.

"That's a different matter entirely..." Mort murmured, locking gazes with Psnoo. Sands rolled his eyes, despising this mushy carp. DB took the opportunity to tape Bon-bon's wig back on as well. Bon-bon wasted no time in patting the misshapen lump back into some semblance of a shape.

"Morty...I heart you," Psnoo whispered.

Mort's throat chenched. "I heart you, too. And I miss you... I'm sorry about this mess."

"Okay..." DB managed to mutter before passing out cold. Bon-bon on the other hand...

"FINE! I NEVER LIKED YOU ANYWAY!" she yelled and stormed off.

"Ohh... she passed out," Psnoo glanced at her former mentor, no sidekick. Before lingering too long, she turned her attention to the annoyed Sands. "Hey, SJ, let us go. I did you a big favor with those stories, remember? Remember... stories that went on for months..."

Sands had to evaluate his options. He could free Psnoo and Mort and that'd be perfectly alright with him. But this whole 'guilt' thing was new to him. He'd spent an awful long time with DB. Psnoo was a fun Angel to hang around, but so was DB. And DB had been first. But the magnificent chaos that would come from his letting Psnoo go! But DB... Who would be the least annoyed with him? Or more importantly... whose gun hurt more?

"And they had really good endings..." Psnoo continued, trying to win Sands over. "And FF and I are still writing one..."

Maybe he'd finally get to find out why everyone was calling him SJ and Jeffrey if he gave in to Psnoo. Besides... wasn't DB passed out? One little strip wouldn't hurt matters. He approached Psnoo and Mort cautiously, watching to make sure nobody was likely to blast his head off. DB seemed to have her own agenda and began to come out of her faint.

Psnoo sensed her time was running out. "I'll take the tape off your mouth!" Psnoo bargained desperately. Sands stopped cold, knowing just what DB was like when she woke up.

"...not happy..." DB groaned.

"Come on..." Psnoo pleaded. "I just want to hug my man. No more cat fights."

"But I like cat fights..." Sands murmured, his voice distorted by the tape.

"Hey, you jumped Bon Bon. You, Psnoo," DB spoke, having caught Psnoo's desperate comment. "I think..."

"I'll start another fight," Psnoo whispered while DB was distracted.

"Yep, you," DB nodded to herself.

"Don't make me use the full name," Psnoo threatened.

"Just leave me and Bon-bon alone. We have some talking to do. Go play house with Mort," DB waved Psnoo's comments off.

Sands didn't think Psnoo would make idle threats. "You wouldn't," he growled through his tape.

Psnoo looked at DB suspiciously. "Talking...? What kind of 'talking?'" She then turned to Sands, "I would too."

"None of your business, missus," DB replied haughtily.

"I don't like this," Psnoo pointed out.

Sands couldn't take the lack of action much longer. He turned to DB with his eyebrow raised clearly asking 'Should I let them go?' DB, having hung around Sands long enough to be able to interpret his silences knew what he was asking. Her answer was comprised of her grabbing him by the collar and dragging him with her.

"We'll leave you two alone, Primera," DB announced and followed the pained whimpers of Bon-bon.

"Hey! Who's mentoring whom around here, DB!" Psnoo yelled as a last ditch effort.

Sands wasn't concerned with such trivial questions. He was busy not suffocating from being unable to breath through his mouth. DB tore the tape off non too kindly, unable to take his wheezing much longer. Why he refused to switch to candyettes was anybody's guess. DB would be having a talk with Arenas about converting him soon enough.

"Just whose side are you on?" she hissed

Sands was still gasping for air, but he still found the time to glare at DB. "My own side. Savvy?"

"Hmmph. Okay... go do whatever you want. I just think you should be working on an alliance, if you're not already. Imagine... you and Bon-bon as the final two. Who do you think the viewing audience would pick?" DB spoke with a quiet rationality.

"I HEARD THAT!!!" Psnoo yelled, not liking the Johnny favoritism.

"And just what did you hear, missy?" DB turned to face Psnoo's voice.

"Well...a lot of mumbling," Psnoo murmured. "But it doesn't take a scientist to figure out what you're up to!"

DB smirked. "Truce, girl. We've got to get outta here before we get in trouble with Arenas."

"I sort of like the sound of that," Sands confessed, still continuing the conversation. "But Mort was the first one to actually accept me as an evil psychotic personality. So I can't say Bon-bon would be my best route right now."

"It's a game, Sands. You and Mort as the final two? That's awfully honorable. And I'm not sure you would win. He's incredibly popular," DB warned.

"Psst...so's SJ!" Psnoo hissed.

Sands shrugged. "He's killed people, I've killed people."

"Your funeral," DB sighed.

"I have not killed people," Mort cried.

"Sweetie...we've been over this," Psnoo murmured to her Johnny. DB began to lose interest in her former Johnny and went to check on Bon-bon to patch up issues there. Bon-bon apparently didn't not like Mort anyway. She was still huddled in a little ball trying valiantly to hold back tears. Upon DB's approach, she looked up and adopted a mean look.

"Why haven't you all left yet? Can't a girl wallow in her misery alone? Where's the Ben & Jerry's?

So as to make Bon-bon feel as terrible as possible, Psnoo began to kiss Mort. A lot. DB did not let it phase her and sat down next to Bon-bon.

"Buck up, girl. All the Unangeled are pulling for you. You know that. As for the B&J..." DB broke off as she looked deep in thought. Seconds later a pint of Karamel Sutra and a spoon were in the transvestite's hands. Bon-bon smiled weakly.

"My favorite flavor. Thanks DB. What did I ever do without you?"

Psnoo would not be discouraged. She continued her noisy and obnoxious kisses. SJ wasn't amused and in fact, was rather annoyed with the effeminate air permeating the camp.

"I sure hope Jack or Duke's doing something more interesting than snogging or eating their woes away," he grumbled.

"Remind me why I liked you?" DB sneered.

Sands smirked. "Because I'm a bad apple? And cool to boot?"

Duke, where ever he was, would have been proud. Psnoo wasn't quite confined to the good qualities of the English language.

"Sexy as hell!" Psnoo shouted as well.

Sands jerked a thumb at Psnoo. "That too."

Mort snorted in laughter. He could let Psnoo's comment slide; Sands' ego was a hoot.

"Her words, not mine," Psnoo assured her Mortybear.

"I'm sure..." Mort snickered.

"Hm. Yes, but... you lack maturity," DB replied. "Go play with yourself. We're having girl talk."

"I'm sure you realize just how wrong that sounded. And you have the gall to call me immature," Sands said flatly.

"I'm learning from the best." DB returned to her chat with the still mildly distressed Unangeled Johnny. "Listen, Bon Bon, I have to go. My alter ego is past her bedtime. Pathetic, I know. But you'll be okay. Just get your head in the game. There's lots of fish in the sea. There's a fella out there who can appreciate you for who you are. Somewhere," she added quickly.

Bon-bon sniffled mightily. "Really?"

"Girl. You kiddin'? You're cute. Sexy. And nobody smuggles contraband like you," DB beamed. Psnoo gagged, knowing what exactly DB was talking about. "Gezundheit!" DB cocked her head.

"No... No they don't!" A new light began to shine in Bon-bon's eyes. It was a feeling of pride and empowerment. She leaned over to share a hug with DB before rising to her feet. "Thank you, Dangerbabe!" Bon-bon hugged the Bosley Angel again for extra emphasis and skipped back to camp.

"You're making me...." Psnoo started. Mort cut her off with a hand over her mouth and shook his head.

"Wow. She skipped," DB sounded puzzled. "I've never seen her skip before."

"EWWW!!!" Psnoo shouted.

"Need I say it?" Sands glanced at DB.

"Please don't."

"Good. Because you get used to it after awhile," Sands nodded sagely. DB laughed in somewhat better humor with the 'bad apple' than she had been.

"Virgin eyes!" Psnoo wailed.

Be it the comments, the kissing, the gagging, or the late hour at Angel Headquarters, DB was ready to bail. "Okay, Psnoo. I'm pulling rank as Bosley. Let's get outta here."

"Hey, whoa wait! I'm still attached!" Mort cried.

"Not without my Morty!" Psnoo pouted.

"Not that I mind or anything..." Mort shook his head.

"Morty..." Psnoo was conflicted. She wanted Mort home and away from the shemale. But she wanted him to win the game.

"You know what you have to do to satisfy your angel, Mort. Get voted out," DB murmured.

Mort shrugged. "How can I say no to that?"

Sands was seated on a log and poking the fire with a stick. This had allowed him the best image of nonchalance while being able to take in every bit of conversation. "Take him now. I'll say abducted by aliens... no Tribal Council for anyone."

"I wouldn't object," DB grinned evilly.

"NO! You don't get to rig the game!" Psnoo shouted. She then proceeded to pout.

"I'm not rigging, I'm offering a helpful alternative," Sands replied.

"We're not?" DB frowned. "I mean... we're not!"

"We're being professional," Sands smirked.

"Don't you want me to come with you?" Mort asked.

"Mort, you have to win fair, square, or by Shooter," Psnoo answered solemnly.

"Mort... you can't just sneak out," DB shook her head, possibly thinking of what Arenas would do if she found out they'd stolen one of the Johnnies off the island.

Psnoo teared up. "No, you have to win. Win for me. It'll make a great story. Just think about it."

"I don't want to spend more time with BB! I'm afraid! I want the cabin, I want the reclaimed couch!-" Mort stopped. He was not whiny by nature, not at all. This endeavor had been much more taxing than he'd thought, but he wouldn't quit now. Not when his Angel was rooting for him. "I'll do it for you."

"Bon-bon just might be off your hands... that is, if you can keep Shooter's hands off of her," DB pointed out. Sands sighed and turned back to the fire. He hoped this soap opera would reach a conclusion. Or at least a great ending; something along the lines of Survivor having been all some dream by a kid who was sick. It didn't seem to be.

Psnoo grinned encouragingly at Mort. "I know you can do it. And when you get back you'll have a newly defragged computer waiting for you."

"Well, I'd snog you, boyo, but I have to respect Arenas," DB turned to the brooding Sands with an arched eyebrow. This seemed to get him out of his funk quick enough.

"But a quick one? For old times sake?" he winked suggestively.

Mort smiled briefly before searching the magic pocket. He managed to find what he was looking for and withdrew Shooter's hat. "You'd better take it..."

"Whoa. Is that _the_ hat?" DB gasped.

Mort nodded. "Psnoo left it at camp the first time."

"But you're so hot in it..." Psnoo sighed dreamily.

DB looked torn. "He's so damn hot. Wait... did I say that out loud?"

She apparently had. "DB! You owe me an assignment for that one!" Psnoo shouted.

"Oh lordy..." Sands rolled his eyes.

"What ? What one?" DB remembered that Sands had said something.

"I don't see Arenas here DB..." Sands hadn't forgotten.

"All right, but quick, sugarbutt!" DB conceded.

Sands didn't need to be told twice. He swept DB off her feet and went in for the kill. Now, any sane girl will say that being kissed by a Johnny would be fantastic. Being kissed by one of the more passionate (save Don Juan) and psychotic of the bunch... DB wouldn't have had a chance had she not been familiar with Sands' ministrations before-hand. As it was, she still had trouble staying totally conscious.

"So, you're going to stay, Morty?" Psnoo asked shyly.

"I guess I will," Mort nodded.

"Win one for the Kipper," Psnoo grinned.

Mort's heart melted. "I'd love to hug you but... I'm still duct taped up," he murmured apologetically.

"Umm... someone... help?" Psnoo craned her head around.

Luckily for them, Sands decided to take a break. "How was that, sugarbutt?:

"Wheeeeeeeee..." DB managed.

"A little bit of help here?" Psnoo called again.

"Maybe I am coming with you," Mort shrugged.

"Don't tempt me," Psnoo pleaded.

"I'm not," Mort admitted.

"Yes... you are. The cabin isn't the same without you," Psnoo sighed.

"SJ... you cheeky devil. I'll catch you later. And remember what I told you about BB. Think about it. Okay?" DB asked sincerely.

"All right. I'll think on it... if I must," Sands didn't promise more than that. He reluctantly let DB up to free Psnoo and Mort. The two fall to the ground with a thump, but recovered fairly quickly.

"Hug before I go," Psnoo insisted. Mort obliged, wrapping his arms around his Angel without fear and squeezed tightly. DB waited politely, but not altogether patiently.

"Psnoo! Back pocket! Let's go!" she announced.

"Can we use Mort's back pocket?" Psnoo asked innocently.

"Oy," DB smacked her forehead. Mort, however, liked the suggestion. He grinned and kissed Psnoo soundly, 5 o'clock shadow and all.

"If it'll get you off the island," DB sighed.

Mort opened the temporary pocket. "All ready."

"Wait... I don't want you in his back pocket," Psnoo pointed at DB. "Why don't you imagine yourself back, and I'll meet you there."

Sands began coughing and hacking. It was quite obviously not the cigarettes this time and DB was not amused.

"You first," she stated simply.

"But-..." Psnoo protested.

"Girl... I haven't got reason to stay. You do. Hit the pocket and I'll imagine when you've gone!" DB argued.

"But I could be a contender!" Psnoo yelled.

"GO!" DB ordered.

Mort knew it wouldn't be long before DB became overly annoyed and kissed Psnoo again, hoping to persuade her to see reason. He led her gently to his Velcro pocket with a quiet, 'I love you.'

"I don't wanna!" Psnoo whined. DB wouldn't budge. She grabbed Psnoo and proceeded to stuff her into Mort's pocket with force. Mort, ever the patient man, bit his lip and wouldn't say anything. Sands had been taking lessons in self-control over the weeks and decided now wasn't the time to state the obvious. Not when DB had called him 'immature' at any rate.

DB raised her head when she was finished. "Is that a Psnoo in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

"I don't know... ask me again in a bit," Mort murmured as he watched the events unfold in the pocket.

Sands could dig it and clapped Mort on the shoulder. "I knew I liked you."

Without another word, DB had decided she'd disturbed Hahaga (or at least 3 of them) for one night and imagined herself back at Angel Headquarters.

"How do they do that?" Mort asked.

"Imagination. It's contagious," Sands shrugged.

"I see," Mort replied, unsure of whether he really did or not.

"Where do you think everyone else ran off to?" Sands tried eying the trees for clues as to the whereabouts of the rest of Hahaga.

"Nananananananananana... and really bad eggs... drink up me 'earties, yo HO!"

"There," Mort and Sands agreed.

**Jack**

**--- "What them scurvy dogs don't** know is... We saw th'whole thin'! Ye wouldn' know it, we kept quiet so as t'best listen in. Ah... blackmail is a beautiful thin'."

**Inaga- Morning**

**--- The restful day had been **great for the tiring team. Each member woke up at least an hour before they normally did and there was a general feeling of alert peace. They were ready for anything.

"Hey General... get the mail, will you?" Spencer asked. He craned his head to get a look of the General from his way-too-comfy log. When Donnie rolled his eyes, Spencer tried out a new trick he'd picked up recently. He pouted adorable. Axel bit his lip and buried his head in his arms. What a turnaround for the creepy, malicious alien! Donnie snorted.

"How can I say no to that face?"

Spencer perked up. Would the General do his bidding?

"Fuhgettaboutit."

Spencer's jaw dropped. He'd been led to understand that those... 'puppy dog eyes' worked every time! Gosh darn it! He wasn't being cute and soft for no reason! Donnie shrugged sympathetically.

"I probably shouldn't be tempting your wrath, but you've gotta' admit... it's too nice to move."

Spencer grumbled. Arrogant Generals thinking they're better than everyone else. Bloody stupid...

"I'll get it it," Ichy gave a martyred sigh and rose on stiff legs. Spencer almost told him not to (not really out of the goodness of his heart, mind you) but decided against it. It was an awfully comfy log.

"I hope you feel good about yourself," Donnie smirked.

"I do," Spencer nodded before pillowing his head on his hands and closing his eyes. Donnie shook his head and returned to watching the fire. Some habits just refused to die.

"Um... this is interesting. Very interesting..." Ichy murmured. He had returned, immersed in what appeared to be the clue.

"What is it?" Sam asked,

"A game of chance, I presume," Ichy's eyebrow quirked.

_The challenge of choice involves a chain_

_Play it wrong, it'll be your bane_

_From king of the jungle to the bottom rung_

_Organism of all kinds might steal your fun_

_Get the top creature and you have to pick_

_Who will suffer or benefit from this little card trick_

"Gosh... that is interesting," Axel frowned.

"I guess we can't practice for this one," Sam sighed.

"Quit your whining. We'll win, you watch," Spencer cracked an eyelid open. Nobody met his gaze. So Spencer growled and left his log.

"Come on, the sooner we get there, the sooner you can all realize you're over reacting.

"I hope so," Ichy muttered.

**Hahaga- Afternoon**

**--- When Hahaga arrived at the **clearing, it was Inaga that they first saw. And for the first time, they were conscious that the gap between both teams wasn't exactly as big as they'd like.

"Hahaga, welcome. Are we ready to start?" the host surveyed the gathered tribes. There was some nodding, some stubborn silences; it all meant the same thing: Let's get this over with so we can leave.

"I assume your challenge gave you a bit of trouble this time around. Well you won't be kept in suspense any longer. Today's challenge is a simple one. Each team has their own set of 5 cards lying face down on the table. One member per tribe will approach the bench and select one of their cards. When the word is given, each member will flip their chosen car over. The card will have a sweet potato, a cockroach, a lobster, a horse or a cannibal on it. If you choose the sweet potato, you will more than likely be at the mercy of the other person. If you find the cannibal, you are in pretty good shape. See, the pictures indicate a position on the food chain in Rapa Nui. The sweet potato on the bottom, then the cockroach, the lobster, the horse and the cannibal. Therefore, the person with the highest card in that order gets his choice. He can spin this handy wheel, or his opponent can. On it are yet more cryptic pictograms," the host winked. "Who ever spun the wheel must consume what it lands on. I'm sure you all recognize the apple pie and steak. Are you sure you want to risk the other foods?"

Sands had zoned out. Steak? Bloody rare? _Oh gosh..._ His stomach growled loudly in response to his thoughts. Duke glanced over to see the trouble and was promptly punched in the shoulder for his troubles. Duke rolled his eyes and decided he didn't much care anymore.

"If both players have the same picture on their cards, they must both eat what I spin. Play will continue until someone pukes. Pretty easy, right? The prize this time is pretty nice in all actuality. You get to take a cruise. There will be a feast with actual edible food and you get to see the entire island in its entire splendor. Nobody has to sit this game out. Who's first for Inaga?"

Donnie turned to confer with his team mates, but found Ichabod already striding over to the table. Donnie traded a look with Axel who just shrugged.

"Ichabod, I take it?"

"None other," he replied casually.

"Hahaga? Who will be first?"

Sands didn't hesitate. He wanted that steak.

"That'd be me, sugarbutt. You have a problem?"

"Not at all," the host shook his head as Sands stood opposite Ichabod.

"Survivors, pick a card!"

Ichy took the second from the right. Sands selected the left.

"Flip the cards."

Ichy had a sweet potato. Sands had a cannibal. Ichy shrunk from his card and cringed, waiting to here Sands' obvious verdict. After all, who really wanted to tempt the fate of the wheel?

"Sands you've got the highest card. Who spins?" the host asked.

"I will," he replied coolly.

"That's awfully brave of you. All right, take a place beside the wheel and give it a whirl."

Sands glanced at the steak at the very top of the wheel. He could rig the game and do a tiny spin, but nobody would look very kindly on that. So he tested the waters for a 450-degree turn. The wheel was greased up and waiting. All he'd have to worry about was not overshooting and getting the octopus. He spun the wheel.

The wheel had other agendas. It shot past the steak a first and a second time to finally land on, ironically, a sweet potato. Sands sighed. It could have been worse, but it wasn't what he wanted. The unassuming root was place in front of him and he took a couple of bites. It was a challenge, he couldn't really back down from such an easy test.

"The whole thing?" Sands asked having swallowed another mouthful. The host nodded and Sands rolled his eyes. Blast. Seconds later it was gone and Jack and Sam were facing off.

"Pick you cards."

Jack went for the middle while Sam went with Ichy's second from the right.

"Flip them over."

2 sweet potatoes were presented.

"All right guys, I'm going to spin the wheel. You both have to eat whatever it lands on, okay?"

They nodded and watched as the wheel spun round and round. Watched as it landed on the pie. There were groans of depression from both tribes as 2 slices of apple pie were set in front of both Survivors.

"Best of luck, mate. I know it must be tough fer ye t'eat that," Jack smirked. Sam nodded and smiled. The pie was dispatched and the 2 contestants returned to their teams. Spencer and Duke were next. They were followed by Donnie and Bon-bon, and Axel and Edward. The highlight had been Edward's spin of 'steak' and Sands anguished moan. In fact, it was a pretty mellow challenge compared to some of the others. Axel managed to avoid fish based foods and nobody was overly squeamish. The host decided to up the ante, as it were.

"Okay, we've each been at this several times now. I'd like to finish this up before to much longer if you know what I mean. Just think of me as Monty Hall and you'll do fine. Next Survivors, approach the table."

Sands and Spencer took their places.

"Pick your card and present it."

Sands displayed a sweet potato and Spencer, a cockroach.

"Spencer, you decide. I have 2 objects of equal edibility. You won't know what they are until you pick one or the other. You both must consume it. Which object would you like?"

Spencer felt his shoulders slumping. Not good. "Number 1."

"Number 1... number 1... Well, I don't envy you. 1 pint of cow's blood. Cold."

"Oh good. I've been missing my V-8," Sands drawled. A mug of cow's blood was placed in front of both team members.

"Survivors, mugs at the ready."

Sands picked up a glass and offered to clink with Spencer who looked physically sick. The other man gave up and settled the glass at his lips. Spencer's hand was shaking as he didn't likewise.

"Sickos," he whispered.

"Survivors! Chug!"

It was the smoothie challenge all over again. Spencer's hand was clamped viciously over his nose and was drinking as fast as he dared. Sands was taking his time, sensing no threat from Spencer's corner. It wasn't a race, rather a test to see who would puke first. Sands finished and decided that waiting half an hour while Spencer went at it like a Queen sipping tea was not a pleasing thought. So he began to talk.

He spoke of the taste, and just about everything else he could think of. Anything designed to freak Spencer out. Sands liked to think of himself as a master of manipulation, this was the perfect opportunity to test this theory. And Spencer was growing even paler.

"I can't do it. No, I refuse. This is _barbaric_, you hear me? I see the meat, but the _blood_? No, no, I'm not finishing this stuff," Spencer slammed the glass down. Sands took the opportunity to wipe the red mustache off his lip and take a breath. Mission accomplished.

"All right, Inaga. That'd mean Hahaga wins."

"I don't rightly care. It's a cruise. We don't need a cruise," Spencer grumbled.

**Edward**

**--- "I'm not unhappy that we **won... but was it legal?"

**Sands**

**--- "The way I figure it**... they never said we couldn't distract people. If it was against the rules, they can't convince me otherwise. They never put it in the rules for me to break."

**Spencer**

**--- "Pigs. The lot of you."**

**Inaga- Night**

**--- Axel was in his customary **fish whisperer trance. It was another busy night out there, and Axel wanted in. Spencer was leaning against a tree keeping to himself. It was his fault, and he still didn't care. He needed peace and rest. Nothing would distract him.

"Hey out there, are you all well?" Axel called softly. He hoped the fish were of saner minds than the last time he's spoken to them. Spencer wasn't in the mood to play so he left Axel alone.

"That's good, good. Anything new down there?"

"Word from JA is that Roo's not doing too well, Axel," a quiet voice spoke. Spencer jumped, not expecting to hear an answer to Axel's questions. Or perhaps, more importantly, one in such close proximity.

"What about Roo?" Axel tensed.

"She misses you, Axel. She wants to know you're okay."

"I-... I'm fine!" Axel stammered, not liking the turn of events. "Who are you?"

Spencer poked his head into the bushes and saw a girl kneeling just behind the foliage. His eyes narrowed.

"I could ask the same thing," he hissed.

"Oh, please, Spencer, let me talk to Axel like this! I'm not doing any harm!"

"Who are you? I know the Angels and well... I don't recognize you."

"I'm Lynx. I... I'm concerned for Roo, alright? I just want Axel to know she's thinking of him and she misses him."

"Why can't Roo come by herself?"

"Because she's been really busy. Can't you find it in the bottom of your heart to let me do this for her? You've got a good side, I know it! You're a dear, Spencer, I know you are!"

"And how would you know this?" Spencer raised an eyebrow.

"Because I've been following this from the beginning."

Spencer sighed and peeked over at Axel who was now frantically calling for the fish bearing Roo news. He looked about ready to burst into tears himself and too many moody Johnnies just would not do. With a grudging nod, he returned to his tree post and let Lynx work her magic.

"Please, please answer me! Where are you? Where's Roo?" Axel pleaded desperately.

"I'm sorry for the delay, Axel. Roo is just really busy. I'm sure she'd love to come, but right now, I think reassurance would do well enough. She misses you Axel."

"Then I have to get voted off, don't I? I can! I can leave and see Roo-..."

"No! You've gotta win for her, Axel! Just make sure you don't forget who you're fighting for, okay? Whenever you feel helpless or depressed, remember your Angel, Axel. She'll appreciate it."

"I... I can do that too," Axel still looked visibly shaken.

"Good bye Axel. I must tell Roo the good news. Stay well, Axel!"

"O-Okay..." Axel whispered.

Spencer gave the mysterious girl time to escape before he looked into the brush again. Sure enough, it was empty. Axel hadn't moved and he looked about to faint. Maybe that girl... Lynx?... was right in that he did have a good side. Spencer got up and sat down next to Axel.

"I bet Roo's okay. Trust me on this."

"Easy for you to say," Axel muttered.

"C'mon. It's alien intuition. I know these things."

"Really?" Axel looked upward, eyes red.

"Really really, Fish Boy," Spencer's mouth quirked into a lopsided smile. Axel couldn't fight back the laugh at the nickname.

"Thanks, Spence."

**Hahaga- Late morning**

**--- Last night's festivities had lasted **well into the evening. In fact, the mental anguish of waking up at the normal time had kept many a Survivor in bed much later than they would have liked. The ones that braved the lethargy were wrapped around their rice bowls trying to extract as much warmth as they could.

"Are we ah... goin to be able to... _perform_ in the next challenge?" Duke mumbled.

"I dunno," Sands bit back a yawn.

"I should think we can," Edward nodded hopefully. Nobody had the heart or energy to tell Edward otherwise.

"Should I check the mail? Or will you?" Sands slurred, pointing at Duke.

"Yeah, I'll do it. Why not?" Duke shrugged and staggered to his feet. When he could stand upright, he staggered into the brush. Jack managed to join the fire in the time it took for Duke to return.

"'S a strength one," Duke tossed the clue to Sands having already analyzed it as much as he cared.

"Strength, hm?" Sands rubbed his eyes and squinted at the lettering.

_King of the mountain_

_Over the middle of the_

_Ocean on platforms_

"Oh," Edward sighed. He hated the ocean. And strength wasn't exactly his finest aspect.

"Buck up, mate. Ye won't be needin' t'be discouraged if we can help it," Jack clapped Edward on the back companionably.

"Really?" Edward brightened.

"O' course!" Jack grinned.

"Then ah... we'd better wake Mort and Bon-bon if we... want to get going," Duke pointed out.

"I'd better do it... make sure everything's working out," Sands said cryptically. He left the orange glow to check up on the sleeping Johnny's. Bon-bon, good on her word, was at the opposite end of the tent and had made no move to snuggle closer to Mort. Sands shook Mort awake first, knowing that he probably wouldn't be interrupting a dream that would scar him for life were he to find out. Mort started awake with a snort.

"We're leaving, savvy? You've gotta come, whether you participate or not."

Mort groaned, finally realizing what the other man was talking about. Challenge day. Again.

"Wake up. I'll get Bon-bon."

"Bon-bon?"

"Over there," Sands pointed.

Mort managed to steal a look at the serene woman and smiled.

**Inaga- Afternoon**

**--- Inaga's first sight of the **playing field was of a giant log in the middle of the ocean. King of the mountain indeed.

Hahaga was quite the rag tag lot stumbling onto their green carpet like a bunch of hung-over hobos. That was the team that had beat them before? It was either a grave insult or clinched their victory for today. Spencer hoped they'd simply partied too hard last night.

"I see you all found your way here, good for you, tribes," the host smiled. "Welcome to your next challenge. It's a test of balance and possibly... a little bit of strength.

"5 members of each tribe will be on their side of the log. When I say go, the teams will try to knock people from the other team off the log by any means necessary. Last team standing wins immunity. I won't give you ideas, you're very resourceful people. Hahaga, who will sit out?"

"I will," Edward whispered. This obviously wasn't the challenge for him.

"Okay, let's get to it. Tribes, out to sea!"

After a sort of sigh, clothes began to be stripped and the great migration began. On the orange part of the log, everybody was down to shorts of one type or another. The green side was down to something slightly less, but that was due to what they came in with. Edward watched from the beach, hoping that the tired Hahaga could pull it out.

"Tribes, on the log!"

There wasn't too much trouble; the log was tied to each dock to make sure no member would be bucked off prematurely.

"Survivors ready?"

"Yeah..."

"Cut the ropes!"

The lurches from the rope alone were enough to send Sam flying into the drink. Inaga winced. That couldn't be good.

Jack was in the front for Hahaga. Excellent reflexes and sea legs helped Jack triumph in move towards the unbalanced Axel.

"'Ello, darling," Jack grinned toothily. Axel adopted a deer-in-the-headlights look as Inaga and Hahaga got similar ideas to start spinning the log. Axel and Jack were next to take a dive.

"Can we stop this thing?" Donnie whispered to Ichabod.

"Too much force. Hahaga would have to slow down too. It's going to keep going unless something can stop it."

"That means we can't go and try to wrestle them off either."

"Unless you've got great coordination, I wouldn't recommend it," Ichabod admitted. Donnie sighed and continued his running. Bon-bon didn't seem to have the same endurance of most Johnnies and began to slow. The Laws of Physics wouldn't be defied that easily and Bon-bon slipped off next. Both tribes were now even, 3 and 3.

"Spencer, can you kind of land hard when you run? To shake the log up?" Donnie turned to Spencer on the end.

"Sure, General Brasco," Spencer panted. Soon enough, the log began to shake up and down with Spencer's and Donnie's combined jumping actions. Ichy got the idea quickly, but just wasn't coordinated enough. He went spiraling into the salt water too.

Mort was also on the outside and just never felt the rippled until he missed a step and tripped. Sands and Duke tried to continue the rolling motion—they'd established a rhythm—but it wasn't meant to be. Spencer and Donnie had changed the game and Sands cigarettes didn't help the matter. He gave up and pencil-dived neatly into the sea.

"Hey! You can't give up now!" Duke cried.

"I did." Sands spit out a mouthful of the nasty water. Donnie and Spencer shared a last evil look and jumped. Duke flew into the water and that was the end of Hahaga.

"Well done Inaga! Inaga wins immunity!"

**Final Note:** Well, this is the longest chapter I've ever written. Ever. I hope you limed it. To commemorate, I've made a little glossary of Angels for reference. I plan on copying and pasting it in the last chapter too, for easy access. For now though, I'll make mention to the list being in this chapter, savvy? The short of it:

The Caribbean Crusader (CC)- Captain Jack Sparrow's Angel

The Symbolic Sacrifice (SS)- Raphael's Angel

Dangerbabe (DB)- Johnny's Bosley, Ops Angel, Caretaker of the Unangeled, Psnoo's sidekick/former mentor

Secret Pseudonym (Psnoo)- Mort Rainey's (and Shooter's) Angel, DB's mentor/former sidekick

AJohnnyBabe (AJB)- Angel in Waiting for Willy Wonka

The Rolling Rooster (Roo)- Axel Blackmar's (Fish Boy) Angel, Lynx's mentor

The Extraterrestrial Terror (ET)- Spencer Armacost's (Alien) Angel

The Ingenious Inspectorette (Iggy)- Fred Abberline's (Inspector) Angel

The Fearless Fiend (FF)- Raoul Duke's Angel

CIA Agente Arenas (Arenas)- Agent Sands' (SJ, Jeffrey, Sheldon, etc.) Angel

Lynx- Roo's sidekick


	8. Chchchchchanges

**Title:** Johnny Survivor

**Rating:** PG-13. It got weird on me at the end. And Duke swore. Bad Duke!

**Summary: **Two words, peepshows. The merger.

**Disclaimer:** I own the ticket stubs to The Spongebob Squarepants Movie and 2 different viewings of Finding Neverland. And I'm keeping them!

**Author's Notes:** This is the first time I've been totally on my own for at least a couple chapters so… I sure hope I still remember how it's done. For Angel info, check out Chapter 7, and say hello to Dances With Rolls, (Rollie) Sam's Angel, and The Artisan of Quirk, (as yet, nameless) the newest sidekick. Congrats, chica!

**Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes…**

**Last time on Johnny Survivor**

**--- The challenge of the day** was a trip on a log of the worst kind. Not that there is generally a good trip on a log, save a log flume at an amusement park. The teams had both established that Easter Island was no amusement park. The last Johnny standing would win glory and immunity for his tribe and in an amazing show of unity, Spencer and Donnie managed to unbalance Duke to win for Inaga.

**Hahaga- Tribal Council**

**--- Hahaga wondered where they went** wrong. Last they'd been aware, they'd been the top contenders. Now… well… they were going to be tied with Inaga for the first time since the beginning of the game. This wasn't the way to go into the merger; they needed their two member lead! The outrage!

No member of Hahaga would meet another's eyes. There was a mutual acceptance that whoever would go next would be a member of a strange and beautiful group of miscreants and weirdoes: the team nobody thought would have a chance. The first two votes had wheedled out the uptight in the group, and now there was no one left that could qualify as Average Joe. It was going to be a hard vote.

"Hahaga, you've returned. If you're grasping at straws, you did win that cruise. What'd you think?"

"Food," Mort moaned in pleasure. They'd had his 2 weaknesses well stocked. He hadn't touched the sandwiches or salad-type foods; he stuck with the dollar bags of Doritos and cans of Mountain Dew. The rest of the tribe had similar fond memories of pleasantly full stomachs and relaxation.

"I'd imagine," the host smirked. "So how'd this last challenge treat you?"

"Their collaboration was incredible," Edward murmured. "I've never seen any team work as well as they did."

"And we just don't seem to like to get along," Sands shrugged, not above noticing the other tribe's clearly superior joint effort.

"Why is that?" the host asked.

"Differences of opinion. Uh… manta rays…" Duke began rattling off different reasons for Hahaga's possible collapse.

"I see. Well, I suppose all that's left is to try harder, isn't it?"

"Easy fer you t'say," Jack quirked an eyebrow, watching the host's reaction. The host simply smiled sadly.

"Well, same as last time folks, one of you has won immunity for the night. The online voting has been closed and the winner of tonight's immunity…" he paused dramatically. "is Bon-bon."

Bon-bon couldn't help but smile faintly at the repeated honor. She must have been doing something right to be so well liked. She couldn't pin it one way or the other on Mort, so something else must have been at play. But she'd accept it because with the vote still up in the air, it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Bon-bon, since you can't be voted out, would you mind voting first?"

Bon-bon shook her head and stood up gracefully. Better to get it over with as soon as possible.

**Bon-bon**

**--- "I have chosen you because** I am now non-partial and… you just seem like the best choice. You don't help out and you just don't do enough. If it makes you feel any better, I am sorry."

**Edward**

**--- "I have no idea who** to chose. I believe that you are more intimidating than you mean to be and I think you need to just be home where you can have all the support you'd need."

**Mort**

**--- "I guess you really have **changed. Good on you, not that I can really vote you out anyway. So I vote for you because… you're dragging us. You're a nice guy and all, but you just haven't done a whole lot."

**Hahaga- Tribal Council**

**--- It was Jack's turn to** vote last this time around. He reseated himself beside Edward and waited for the host to make his pithy remark about getting the votes.

"I'll go tally the votes."

Jack snorted. That guy never disappointed. He could feel Sands shifting behind him; the agent seemed down right antsy. He wondered if Sands really felt he had a chance of being voted off. Then again, who didn't?

"Once the votes are read, the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave Tribal Council immediately. The first vote. Edward."

The host looked up while turning the parchment around.

"Second vote. Duke"

A parchment was revealed to have "Duke" scrawled in a thin, spidery font with fewer poked holed than normal.

"Third vote. Duke."

Duke was trying very hard not to say anything. A shaking hand withdrew a cigarette from his case and stuck it in the filter. Not bothering with a lighter, he lit it on his torch and began to nervously chew on the plastic.

"Fourth vote. Edward. Two votes Edward, two votes Duke."

Edward bowed his head. Duke's cigarette was nearly gone.

"Fifth vote. Edward."

Edward's breath caught. It could still be a tie. He hoped it was.

"The last vote."

The host didn't read it aloud; he turned the parchment over. Duke exhaled heavily, caving in on himself and cradling a weary head in arms resembling little more than limp noodles. Edward stood up.

"Edward, bring me your torch."

Edward managed to pick the staff up without slicing it in two and deposited it in front of the host.

"The tribe has spoken."

The host smothered Edward's flame.

**Edward**

**--- "I should have seen it **coming. I don't think I have a lot to say. I miss LMM, I'll be glad to go back."

**Duke**

**--- "Too close. Far too close.** Terrible vibrations. This is sinister."

**Inaga- Late night**

**--- Sam was lying awake, arms** behind his head. The events of the past 18 days had been a wild rollercoaster of triumph, despair and confusion. Angels crawled out of the woodworks and to Sam's knowledge, Donnie and Ichy were as equally lacking in Angel contact as he was. That kind of sad story was worthy of Oprah, but Sam refused to complain. It wasn't who he was.

But the separation anxiety of a Johnny for an Angel will undeniably do stuff to the mind. Sam could almost believe a familiar form was sliding up beside him and snuggling against his recumbent figure.

"I missed you," she whispered, not wanting to ruin the moment, but needing to interact.

"I missed you too," Sam replied shyly. Part of him insisted this was an illusion; he'd been too long without his Rollie. His senses told his brain to go jump off a bridge. His Dances With Rolls _had_ come to the island to see him and here was concrete proof! But doubt still managed to glower at him from its cage in the corner of his mind.

"Rollie?"

"Sam?" she asked. She propped herself up on an elbow so as to best answer her Johnny. Concern clouded her eyes, hoping she could put her Johnny at ease.

"Rollie? Is it really you?"

Rollie smiled slightly, grateful this was all that plagued Sam's thinking. Instead of bothering with such cumbersome answers formed by human speech, she scooted closer, tugged Sam's arm from under his head and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

Sam's worries disappeared instantaneously. All that mattered was Rollie, bless her. He returned her kiss in acknowledgement. When they finally broke apart, Sam was the first to break the silence.

"I still love you."

Rollie hugged him tightly. "You know that line gets me teary-eyed."

"I do," Sam smiled.

"I still love you too. And I missed you. I had to come and make sure you were okay. All the other Angels come to the island regularly and I just wanted one chance to see you. I hope I didn't distract you, oh my gosh, I'm so sorry if I did-!"

"Sh," Sam laughed quietly. "You're not distracting me! I was just thinking of you, love. I'm really glad you came. I've missed you more than you can imagine." He hugged her tightly for emphasis.

"I'm glad I could talk to you. The Group Home's not the same without you."

"How'd you get here?" Sam asked, realizing people often didn't fall out of the sky. At that moment, an annoyed honk echoed from out in the middle of the ocean.

Rollie sighed. "I hired a boat. He's probably getting impatient. I'm sorry, Sam. You know I'd rather stay with you, right?"

"I don't think you're allowed to be here," Sam said softly. He spared a glance for his sleeping companions as though fearful one would wake and rat him out. No one stirred, save Rollie who was crawling out of Sam's loving arms through sheer force of will.

"Me neither. I don't think Arenas would bite my head off, but there's no point in tempting fate," Rollie giggled.

"Would she really do that?" Sam asked, rather alarmed.

"Arenas? No, of course not! I don't think," Rollie frowned in thought. Nobody had really tried the Agente's patience before, had they? But the frequent island hopping and prior demands for updates must have made their mark. Maybe…

"You'd better go," Sam nodded, a worried look spreading across his moon-silvered features. He got to his feet to share a last hug and kiss with his Angel.

"I love you," she murmured.

"I love you too," he answered. She couldn't stay any longer or she wouldn't be able to return home without Sam at all. The separation was beginning to get to her. But Sam overcoming any and all odds would be worth it in the end. She pecked him on the cheek and fled before he could convince her to stay with no more than his eyes. He'd had that power since Day 1.

Sam watched Rollie disappear with a sad smile on his face. He was still a part of the majority, but it was a different majority. It was the contented Inaga folk who could go another 18 days and to the ends of the earth with the knowledge that at home, he was still loved.

**Hahaga- Early Morning**

**--- Sam wasn't the only sleepless** Johnny that night. Jack hadn't been able to get a wink of sleep either. He wasn't suffering severe rum withdrawal; he'd been able to stock up during the cruise, but it was that same cruise that had been plaguing his mind. He'd bought a trinket at the gift shop with some of the uncursed coins in his pocket and now he wasn't sure how to work it.

The shopkeep had said that it would provide a glimpse of one's true love, time enough to share an intimate moment to tide them both over until a reunion. Jack didn't see a reason not to try it; after all, he'd partaken in weirder voodoo before.

Tossing and turning was doing little good and only further tangled his hair so he gave sleep up. Instead, he sat by the campfire and took the mini-moai out of his pocket. It looked wholly uninteresting and if not for the metal hinge on the back of its head, he would have passed it off as a piece of carp. The top piece lifted up to reveal the face of the old lady he'd bought the moai from.

"Please record your message after the beep."

The moai chirped happily and Jack dropped the figurine. What strange trickery! The head had snapped shut on impact and bounced dangerously close to the fire. Jack scooped it up again, believing firmly in 'Waste not, want not.'

The sun was beginning to brighten the horizon to a tickle-me-pink sort of hue when Jack mastered the gift. He carefully stole a pad of paper and a pen from Mort's magic back pocket and scribbled a note to CC. It would be a long shot that she'd receive it directly, so he penned another note requesting the moai find its way to The Caribbean Crusader. Then, Jack did something he hadn't done in a long while. He called a couple of sea turtles.

Myth said that Captain Jack Sparrow had to wait three days before some sea turtles happened to wander by. He himself had told Elizabeth that he'd been rescued by rum runners. They were both lies. There were no rum runners involved and he never had to wait for the turtles. In truth, it had been a combination of the two stories: he'd spent three days drinking rum, true enough. But when he'd grown weary of that, he called a couple of sea turtles and he's been whisked away from the island. He had a special bond with turtles. Now, he needed a favor from them.

A green head popped above the gently lapping surf. Jack took the opportunity to detail his plan for the reptile. The turtle would be required to carry the moai across the ocean to Angel Headquarters. It was a _very_ special delivery and nothing could happen to it as Jack would find out and the consequences would be extremely severe. The turtle eyed Jack and nodded lazily in understanding. Jack smiled with satisfaction and handed the cargo over. He never took his eyes off the turtle until it had disappeared over the horizon. When he waded back to shore, Sands was already awake and reheating the leftover chicken from the cruise. Hahaga had been resourceful in their smuggling back of real food.

"Aye, I can talk t'sea turtles," Jack answered the unasked question. Sands looked up at the pirate with a raised eyebrow.

"If I were concerned with the strange things that went on at this camp, I'd've had a total mental breakdown ages ago, señor, so, welcome to the club," Sands smirked. Jack didn't know if the sarcasm was normal, from a lack of sleep or something else, so he declined comment. Nobody knew Sands' agenda and that was what the agent liked.

Sands wouldn't push Jack into conversation and returned his attention to the now warm poultry. It was Duke who wandered out of the shelter next with a troubled look shadowing his face. Jack cocked his head as the journalist plopped down next to him.

I see why Mort's been so paranoid," Duke said by way of greeting.

"It's been my understandin' that 'e's been recoverin' since th'young lass left 'im alone," Jack replied.

Yeah, but before that. The… uh… lass… got cold last night and ah… wound up a little too close to my side of the shelter…"

"You don't think he's coming on to you, do you?" Sands quirked an eyebrow. "She had Ben and Jerry's. Ben and Jerry's heals all wounds. She's sworn us off for awhile yet."

"I don't think it was intimate. I mean… I hope not," Duke's jaw twitched in memory at waking up next to a gloriously beautiful… man. Duke didn't want a conflict, but by God, there would be if she forced the matter. And speak of the Devil…

"Was it warm last night or was it me?" Bon-bon grinned behind a yawn. She'd just woken up and decided she wanted breakfast.

"Or maybe it was me," Duke glowered, in no mood for subtle games.

"Are you running a fever?" she asked. She seemed genuinely concerned for Duke's health.

"You tell me."

"What in the world do you mean?"

"Are you coming on to me?"

"_What_?"

Sands and Jack managed to busy themselves with menial tasks to avoid this new issue. Nobody should be asked to handle this trip.

"I demand to know why you were draped over me like a blanket."

"How dare you!" Bon-bon yelled and promptly slapped Duke. Jack hissed in sympathy. Duke's eyes widened as tentative fingers explored the throbbing cheek. _Ow, ow, ow, ow…_

"A simple no would have sufficed," Duke whispered. For all the delicate beauty of Bon-bon, she was still a man and he sure knew how to pack power in a blow.

"I still have my dignity!"

"I'm sorry I misjudged you. Go back in the tent and try to calm down. Do whatever you have to, but _don't_ come anywhere near me."

"Don't tell me what to do!" she screamed, angling her palm for another whack.

"Okay, okay, I'll go back to the tent!" Duke raised his hands to show no ill will and crept back to the shelter and his case. No ether, he needed something a bit more relaxing. Bon-bon, as a final attempt to establish that she wanted no part of Duke or any other team mate, smacked the journalist on the shoulder blades.

"And don't you accuse me of this again!"

Sands took the opportunity to drape an arm around Bon-bon's shoulders and lead her down to the beach.

"Listen… chica… I don't know where you get off being a…" Sands trailed off to try and find the right word to describe the transvestite.

"A woman of dignity!"

"Sure, yeah, that. You've really gotta not be so touchy. People don't like being slapped or beaten up. I say this because I like you in a… purely… platonic way and a little birdie asked me to consider watching your back.

"I don't need your sympathies."

"And trust me, I'm not offering them as I haven't got any. What I am offering is help and good advice for when those hormones just sorta… boil around and… make life difficult."

"I can take care of myself, thank you!"

"You're making this hard for me to be patient."

"And I'm supposed to be concerned."

"Do you _want_ the others to gang up on you?" Sands asked cuttingly. Bon-bon looked ready to pop the agent in the jaw, but through the magic of self-restraint, heard him out. "I thought not. Now, I've got a proposition for you. You lie low and keep yourself out of the line of fire, and I'll support you. You get picked on or want to try and vote someone else off, I'll offer my services. In the latter case, I'll certainly tell you who I think you should vote for, but I'm willing to compromise. Does this sound like a reasonable proposal?"

"What's in it for you?"

_Clever girl_, Sands thought. Out loud, he said, "Hopefully, a chance at the Final Two. The rabble at camp is just that, a disorganized rabble. I don't know Inaga well enough, but I'm willing to bet they're close. We've gotta go after Inaga first in order to keep ourselves on top, savvy?"

"You are underhanded and pure evil."

"Yes, thank you. Do we have a deal?"

Bon-bon couldn't help but feel that she'd be selling her soul to the Devil. She didn't even really need to win the game. Now she was here for the sun and company. This Sands seemed bent on strategy and Bon-bon couldn't bring herself to care.

"Whatever. I'm non-partial, Agent Sands, but I'll keep your offer in mind. Now, I am hungry and demand my breakfast. Good bye."

Sands sighed and rolled his eyes. Evil, moody, possibly PMS-ing shemale. Instead of dealing with "that rabble," he stripped to his shorts and went swimming.

**Bon-bon**

**--- "So I wake up a **little closer than _somebody_ was comfortable with. I'm sorry you all think that I'm out to snog you all senseless, but honestly, who has that kind of stamina? If I wanted to do what you're all convinced I want to do, you'd have known about it a lot earlier, wouldn't you? Now I'm stuck in some kind of deal with some corrupt official who thinks he's doing me a favor. What _is_ it with you people? You're all just flipping insane. I'll be glad when I get off this island and get to be with some… _normal_ people.

**Sands**

**--- "I will not blow someone's** head off. I will not blow someone's head off. I can't blow someone's head off. I will not blow someone's head off…"

**Duke**

**--- "Dear Lord… please don't let** anyone sleep near me tonight."

**Jack**

**--- "Wonder where that sea turtle** is…"

**Inaga- Late Afternoon**

**--- Donnie was bored. He'd relaxed** enough and needed a hobby. Axel had suggested talking to the tunas (who were being particularly chatty that day) and Spencer had pointed out the tribe needed to rig some kind of security system if they expected to not be caught unawares anymore. Donnie left the former to Axel and the latter to Ichy. He wanted more excitement. So he grabbed up a stick and machete and wandered away from camp.

If he wanted to be honest with himself, this kind of nature experience gave him a thrill of adventure: a regular Rapa Nui Lord of the Flies. It was him against the world and all of nature. Ha!

Not two minutes into his nature walk, he observed a set of cloven footprints in freshly stamped dirt. He didn't know how he knew, just that whatever had made the tracks couldn't be too far away. And Donnie, Joe, General Brasco, whoever he was would catch it like his ancient ancestors had in the time of the mammoths and giant cats.

Donnie grinned in anticipation, and followed the footsteps.

**Inaga- Evening**

**--- Ichabod's head shot up at** the sound of a snap. The security system! Ichy bounded towards the intricate stick trap system to check it for intruders. What he found caused him to faint instantaneously.

"Hey, no wait, Ichy, it's me!" Donnie yelled, hefting the boar aside to better see the fallen Constable. It was too late; Ichabod was out cold, scared by a dead pig. Donnie sighed and tugged at his foot ineffectually. Ichy had done good work; Donnie wouldn't be escaping anytime soon. But that idea didn't really appeal to the FBI agent.

"A little help!" he called to whoever may have been listening. Maybe Spencer was supervising the testing. Probably not. It was dinnertime.

Donnie eyed the boar that had gotten him into this mess. The boar wouldn't return the stare. Donnie sighed again and tried calling for help again. It would be well past dinner before anybody would begin wondering about the well-being of the two missing Inaga-ites enough to send out a search party. Donnie had managed to find a semi-comfortable sitting position with the boar reclining not too far away. Ichy was still crumpled where he's fainted.

"You got caught in the trap," Spencer raised a brow.

"When I'd left this afternoon, it wasn't yet a trap," Donnie pointed out.

"Well done, General Brasco."

"Shut up and get me free. I want dinner. Oh, and I brought some too, if anybody's interested."

"Pork?" Axel poked his head out from behind Spencer.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Donnie nodded. A stomach growled loudly and more than a few mouths were watering.

"All right, Brasco, you've earned it. Up," Spencer pulled Donnie's foot out of the hole, mindful of the sharp sticks that had previously kept it in place.

Axel glanced at Ichy. "Should we carry him?"

"He'll wake up," Donnie shrugged. Axel looked at Donnie in horror.

"What? It's his fault I got caught."

Spencer snorted, but said not a thing.

**Hahaga- Morning**

**--- Jack was up early again,** searching out the sea turtle who had borne his gift. It was possible that the turtle was still delivering the moai, but Jack wouldn't have it. The turtle was doing him a _favor_ and it would be doing it as _fast_ and _efficiently_ as its little flippers could handle. Really, really slowly, as a turtle often does. Jack grumbled. Bloody stupid turtles taking their sweet time of _everything_.

Mort was elected to run interference when he woke up. Jack hadn't returned to camp and the rest of Hahaga was beginning to worry. Mort tried not to yawn as he tapped Jack on the shoulder.

"What's the trou-trou-tooouuuble," Mort asked into his sleeve.

"Ye say somethin', mate?" Jack barely turned his head to acknowledge Mort. Mort rubbed his eyes and cracked his jaw before he attempted speech again.

"I did. What's the trouble, John Wayne?"

"_Captain_. If ye must call me… John Wayne… do not neglect the _captain_, savvy?"

"Sorry, Captain John Wayne, I forgot. You're still avoiding my question," Mort stifled another yawn.

" 'N what was that, lad?"

"Jack…"

"All right, all right." Jack knew he wasn't getting another 'Captain' in. " 'M worried CC won't get me gift."

"Why would you say that?"

"Turtles haven't got the best sense of direction, let's just face facts here. At least not th'ones I know."

"Did you give them rum beforehand?"

"… might've."

Mort didn't laugh. "Jack, could you possibly have a drinking problem?"

"Now why would ye think that?"

"Your one-track, rum-befuddled mind was a hint."

"Jes what're ye tryin' t'say, mate?"

"Nothing, nothing, never mind," Mort waved the near confrontation off. "Listen, you've gotta stop moping. People are getting worried. C'mon back to camp. Duke went to get the clue and you have to pretend to be interested in it."

"What d'ye plan on doin' if I don't?"

"Going Shooter on you. And trust me, I have no reservations about doing it either," Mort warned. He wasn't sure he could call Shooter out of the depths of his mind, but he didn't think it'd be terribly hard. He wasn't afraid of Shooter taking over either, Bon-bon would see to that. As it turned out, Mort didn't have to release the Shooter inside anyway. Duke returned with the clue in hand.

_An obstacle course_

_No fire, no catch, just run fast_

_Bring your belongings_

Duke rubbed his forehead. "No catch?"

"No catch," Sands frowned. There was _always_ a catch.

"Are we just going to stand here like ninnies or are we going to go?" Bon-bon rolled her eyes.

"We've gotta strike camp first," Duke tapped the clue. There was a collective sigh and Hahaga began the dreary task of destroying their camp.

**Inaga- Afternoon**

**--- It was as the haiku** said; it was a simple obstacle course. Well, not simple in the sense that it would be easy to accomplish, but compared to some of their other challenges, it looked like a cakewalk. Inaga placed their gear in a convenient spot and waited for the arrival of Hahaga and the host.

"Welcome teams, this could be the most crucial reward challenge of the game right here. Are we ready?" the host grinned at the tiring faces around him.

"It is an obstacle course with one person from each tribe at each station. The first person will swim in from the dock in the ocean, run up the beach to the second station. There, he'll meet up with the second team mate and both members will swing over the mud pit. If any part of your body touches mud, both members must go back to the beginning of the station and try again. That said, if both members cross, they go to the third station where the third member waits. There are 3 ball peen hammers per tribe. Each member will smash coconut husks to find keys. The three members will meet a fourth at the next station where each key found will be utilized to unlock the gate in your way. Then, lastly, the entire tribe will meet up at the last station where everyone will have to cross a 3 inch wide balance beam. If anybody falls off, the entire tribe must go back to the beginning of the station. _Comprende_?"

Bon-bon groaned.

"Survivors, to your marks."

Jack and Donnie were in the starting positions. The host was safe and dry on the beach, watching the sun reflect off the gentle waves. He raised a gun. Sands swore in recognition and Duke threw a dirt clod at him.

"Go!" the host yelled, firing the blank.

Jack and Donnie hit the water at the same time. Jack had taken off most of his effects, but it didn't help much compared to Donnie who was down to a pair of shorts. Jack, being used to speed swimming, managed to keep it a close enough race, though he wasn't winning. Donnie slogged up the beach first to tag Spencer and drag him along. Jack was close behind, tagging Sands and almost tripping on a particularly slippery patch of beach.

Spencer swung over the pit neatly and threw the rope back to Donnie who had to catch his breath. Sparing a glance for the gaining Hahaga, he too swung across. Spencer had to grab his arm before he fell backwards into the mud, but neither had to do the challenge over again. Jack was a different story. He had refused to shuck his water heavy clothes, causing him to slide down the rope and plop into the mud on his butt. Sands expression was an interesting combination of annoyance and amusement at the confused look adorning the captain's face. The second time, after the forceful removal of the shirt and boots, both Hahagans hopped the mud puddle and caught up to Donnie, Spencer and Sam who were still smashing coconuts. Duke was ready.

Duke was familiar with coconut smashing and was all over the job. Inaga packed up not 2 minutes later, but Hahaga had gone through three-quarters of its coconuts. Inaga had taken 5 minutes to do that much. The gap was closing, but Ichabod nearly had half the locks open for Inaga. Bon-bon's insistence at jamming any key in willy-nilly wasn't doing Hahaga any good, so she was officially banned from unlocking anything. Inaga bolted through the open gate and met Axel at the balance beam. A short debate, and Axel was the first to attempt a crossing. He got 2 steps before overbalancing into the cargo net below. Hahaga's locks were half done; Inaga didn't have much time left for experimentation. It was Ichy who inched across the beam on all fours, splinters catching in his shirt and pants crotch. What little pain there might have been was lost in the adrenalin rush pumping through his veins.

Hahaga was through their gate and running for all they were worth. Mort had time to observe Ichy's cleverness and switched the teal robe around, tying it securely like a lab apron. It worked like a charm, and would even protect topless Jack if they could toss the garment back and forth. It wasn't the time to analyze though; they were behind as Sam teetered across the board and fell forward on the other side safely. As soon as Mort rolled onto the other platform, Duke lurched forward.

It was a close game, very close. Duke's ungraceful running walk had enough momentum to carry him across without incident, and even managed to gain on Inaga. Sands tried the same tactic, minus the wobbling and leaped before he lost his balance. Axel had learned from his earlier mistake and tried inching along as well. By this time, both teams had 4 men across. Jack and Donnie still had to cross. Donnie opted to inch, Jack, to run. Unfortunately, with his boots still at the mud hole, Jack simply did not have a chance. With a splinter in his foot, he toppled off the beam hissing in pain. Donnie had to be creative with his crawling without protective clothing, and he was again grabbed by helping hands before he could plummet. Inaga crossed the finish line as a team.

"Inaga wins the reward! Inaga, your camp will be the new base for the merger. That's right, Survivors. This was the last team reward challenge. You will no longer be known as Hahaga and Inaga, but Varua, and your camp will be the former Inaga's stomping grounds. You must take all your supplies to the new camp and settle in. Here are the new buffs…"

Hahaga didn't have time to feel sorry for themselves. The flurry of movement and activity as buffs were passed out and gear was gathered again. The new buffs had the same logo, but were a deep navy blue color.

"Inaga, lead the way. Make Hahaga feel at home, show them the water supply, the beach and so forth. We'll be seeing you tomorrow for the immunity challenge."

**Mort**

**--- "What just happened? Did we** lose?"

**Donnie**

**--- "That was our reward? Odd. **Very odd."

**Duke**

**--- "Blue? At least it's not** that puke green anymore. That was doing some rotten things to my mind."

**Varua- Late afternoon**

**--- The ten tribe members came **upon Inaga's camp with something akin to fear and caution. In place of the Orange banner, there was now the navy blue Varua pennant snapping in the breeze. In the middle of the camp beside a roaring fire were baskets filled with food and drink. It was absolute paradise and it eased the 'Getting to Know You' process a bit.

Duke, cradling a mug of liqueur, had begun a careful inspection of the new camp. No bats… this was good. No manta rays or moray eels either. Perhaps the switch hadn't been all bad; Duke had been sensing the impending uprising of the bats, rays and eels (oh my) for days. Needless to say, he hadn't been watching the ground as carefully as the sky. He became the second person to fall victim to clever Ichy's trap.

Bon-bon had also been busy exploring Inaga's camp. It had changed drastically since he'd last seen it at the beginning of the game. In fact, she couldn't remember the life-like Duke flailing madly in the bushes. Even the animated swearing was realistic.

"Get me out of here you pig smeepers! Leggo my leg, _ARGH!_ They've got me!"

"Calm down, you big weirdo," Bon-bon rolled her eyes. She knelt by Duke's foot and gave a tentative tug. Duke yelped in pain as the sticks—or lizard teeth—bit hard into the bare flesh. Bon-bon winced and stuffed the foot back into the trap. Once the sticks were pushed downward, she pulled Duke's leg out carefully. The journalist scrambled away from the trap and sat panting against the bush. Bon-bon waited patiently for Duke to make the first move.

"I'm sorry I accused you of sleeping with me," Duke mumbled.

"It's all right now. Do not worry about a thing," Bon-bon replied calmly. Duke bit his lip.

"Did you do that to prove your intentions or… ah…"

"Because I'm a naturally caring individual?"

"Yeah, that too. I think…"

"I did it because I could and I wanted to help. Good enough?"

"I uh… sure. Why not." Duke had lapsed into his no-profanity policy again. However, he still wasn't totally pure; he took out a fresh cigarette and stuck it into the filter. Reaching for his case, he pulled out a lighter and did what was second nature.

"You've had a lighter all this time?" Bon-bon raised an eyebrow.

"What else am I going to smoke with?"

"And you didn't help us light the fire in the beginning."

"I ah… forgot… I had it and… it's all water under the ah… bridge now, isn't it?"

"More or less," Bon-bon sighed. They may not have been the closest or even farthest of friends, but they were no longer mortal enemies. It was a start.

**Meanwhile**

**--- Sands had snagged a cup** and filled it with tequila. If nothing else, he had missed tequila. And… his Angel… to be sure, but how could she expect him to keep a level head without the alcohol? Honestly. He didn't notice the person who sat next to him.

"What, no cow's blood?"

Sands fought to not startle. That wouldn't do, would it? A glance out of his peripheral vision revealed none other than Spencer, his nemesis in the last food challenge. Fancy that.

"No, no cow blood. The last vintage turned me off to the idea temporarily," he replied airily. He took another pull at the cup and swallowed as Spencer sized him up.

"Are you always that sarcastic?"

"Yes," Sands tried the direct approach. _Let's watch Mr. Spencer squirm_…

"Charming."

"There are some that think so."

"I'm not one of them."

"You sound as though you can give better than you can take," Sands smirked. Spencer looked murderous.

"Spencer, meeting the opposition already are we?" Axel announced, winning smile plastered securely in place. He sat between the combatants to diffuse the tense feeling about them. Spencer sneered and scooted away. Axel sighed, "I'm sorry, but he's kinda moody. I wouldn't take it personally."

"If I didn't like to annoy people, I'd be sorely tempted to be feel vexed. But I have this fine tequila, a sizeable feast to look forward to, and there's nothing anyone can say to put me in a bad mood," Sands grinned. Something about this youngster—Axel?—put him at ease. Maybe it was the Chicle ambience about him. He was now the youngest Survivor still standing. Whatever the reason of Sands' amicability towards this complete stranger, the agent wouldn't question it.

"I guess that's a good thin." A smile tugged at the corners of Axel's mouth. Sands clapped a hand on the other man's shoulder.

"Don't worry about the stuff you can see. You can always keep tabs on it and take care of it later. It's the stuff you _can't_ see that you want to watch out for."

**Varua- Night**

**--- The party atmosphere lasted until** well into the night. The alcohol flowed freely and soon, many of the Suvivors were thoroughly inebriated.

"I… _love_ you. I do," Shooter slurred, poking Bon-bon in the chest. Mort blinked, wondering why his head felt so fuzzy and why he didn't mind Bon-bon's presence. The transvestite giggled and batted his hand away, the agreement temporarily forgotten. Duke was out cold on Donnie who was engaged in a thrilling conversation with Sands about the different government agencies and their virtues. Sam, Axel and Ichabod were keeping score of Spencer and Jack's drinking contest. Jack was winning and Spencer was drooping ever closer to the ground. Jack in truth wasn't far behind, but he's had more practice at such events. Finally, Spencer curled up on the ground in defeat. Jack smiled beatifically before crumbling into a heap himself. Both were quickly asleep. The three score keepers traded glances before joinging the main group by the fire.

"What happens now?" Ichabod asked softly. The subdued group didn't have an answer.

"The game's on an individual basis now, isn't it?" Donnie broke the silence.

"But it's still just a game," Sam said almost forcefully. Several pairs of eyes refused to look at him. "Right?"

Bon-bon slide away from Shmort weakly and folded her hands in her lap. It _wasn't_ just a game.

**Varua- Morning**

**--- Sands woke up early as** usual, but with one problem. It had been the headache that had prodded him into wakefulness. He swore under his breath as he tried to knead the pain from his temples. A bleary eye found the path to the ocean and the hung over Sands stumbled towards it. Not one day in his new surroundings and he'd had the place mapped out by memory. It helped for inconvenient situations like hangovers. He didn't bother stripping this time; he lay down in the surf, trying to will the cold water wake him up. He couldn't wait until the rest of the merged tribe woke up. What a barrel of laughs that would be.

"Excuse me, could you deliver a message for me?" a voice asked. There was no hiding his fear this time. Sands leaped up and scrambled farther up the beach.

"Who are you?" he yelled, wishing he had a gun. The feminine voice had been far too close for comfort.

"I say, old chap, don't get your panties in a bunch." A great grey-green blob emerged from the water where Sands' feet had been moments before. It wasn't until the reptilian head surfaced as well that the man began to feel only slightly more at ease.

"You're a turtle," he observed.

"Well done, old bean, your eyes are in top condition. Now, be a dear and deliver a message?"

Sands gaped.

"Tell Captain Jack Sparrow that I delivered his gift to a Mr. Raphael. Also, do tell him I'm disappointed he didn't tell me he was changing locations and that was what had taken so long."

Sands nodded dumbly.

"Thanks, sailor," the turtle winked and disappeared. It took a moment before Sands could get his bearings.

"Did… that turtle just hit on me?" he whispered. He knew he'd been going insane but he didn't need _that_ kind of proof. The plus side was that he no longer seemed to have a headache. Thanks goodness for small miracles.

"Ye wouldn't be thinkin' impure thoughts about me delivery turtle, would ye, mate?"

Sands didn't have the mental stability to face the pirate on the terms he usually did, but he couldn't leave Jack hanging either.

"I can uh… talk to sea turtles," he replied weakly.

"Welcome to th'club, mate," Jack grinned.

**--- Survivors were gradually waking up **with varying degrees of headaches. Jack had grown used to such pain and was perhaps the most lucid of the group. Mort, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the fact that Shooter was also out and about. Conversation with the writer carried its own brand of pain.

"I think I'm going to check the… mail." Sam winced as a member of Varua groaned at the volume of his voice. This was going to be a hard challenge if the condition of his comrades was an indication. He left before things could get excessively weird.

The moai was still in place and still bearing mail. The only difference was the blue ribbon binding the roll of leather. Sam liked the blue.

_A test of strength is all well and good_

_But a test of the mind is what's in store_

_This isn't for fun, for pleasure or food_

_It just keeps the winner's foot in the door._

Ah, immunity. It sounded like another puzzle. It would be ugly for Varua, to be sure, but it would be preferable to a physical challenge. A couple of headaches might have dissipated by then. The tiredness, bad motor skills and dehydration could be another story. Speaking of Varua, Sam had to return or they'd get suspicious if they were capable of rational thought.

**--- Bon-bon was cold. She'd woken** up alone and in a foreign place and missed the familiar surroundings of DB's bio thread. It had taken awhile for the weight of the situation to hit her like a ton of bricks, and she supposed the alcohol hadn't helped. Not even the 'It was bound to happen sooner or later,' excuse was going to work.

She stole a glance at Mort and sighed, knowing she'd come close to breaking her promise. She wasn't really interested in Mort anymore, but she wouldn't say no id he offered a kindness. She supposed it would always be that way and decided that it was no use living in a fantasy world. When Sam broke through the trees, she sat straight and looked more like the proud Survivor she was. No more of this moping, not for her!

"It's a mental challenge," Sam pointed out. There were stifled groans but Bon-bon held her head high. She'd do well, and that's all there was to it.

**--- Sands was gradually accepting his **animal magnetism. Sure, it wasn't orthodox, but… what wasn't extremely twisted on this island anyway? The moais were supposed to come alive at night and scare the bejeezus out of people at night and for all he knew, it might have happened. He wouldn't worry until the inanimate objects started talking to him.

"Oh wow… Sands!" a voice cried happily. This one was also female and also invisible. Sands felt his body go numb. It was that tree, wasn't it? The tree… it had fallen in love with him and he'd be expected to reciprocate the feeling. Sands closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his node, willing the scariness away.

"This is _not_ happening, I'm _not _hallucinating, the tree is _not_ talking to me and it does _not_ know my name," he ground out.

"I'm not a tree, I'm the Artisan of Quirk! And I do know your name! You're Sheldon Jeffrey Sands of the Central Intelligence Agency! I love you!" A girl came from behind the formerly demonic tree, a broad grin on her face. Sands didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It _wasn't_ the tree, but it was a… a fangirl. Just how popular _was_ he?

"They should have named me Don Juan," he murmured. The new girl's smirk didn't fade.

"Do you know how much you rock my toesocks?" she asked, hands on her hips.

"Uh… a lot?" he hazarded a guess.

"Exactly."

"Listen… now's not really a good time. I just got eyed by a turtle and I'm still drunk. I'm not sure about you, but this sure seems like La Vida Loca to me. I can't shoot you and I promise not to do anything rash if perhaps you can bother someone else? What about Spencer?"

"Spencer's still here? Yes! I adore Spencer! And Jack!" she added as an after thought.

"Really, well… I'm sure the'll be happy to see you too," Sands nodded. He had injected as much of his former, non-perturbable self into the act as possible and it seemed to do the trick.

"It was wonderful talking to you and I do so hope we meet again. In fact, I'm counting on it," she winked. "See you in Mexico."

Sands pulled his face into a confident smile and even waved a bit as the Artisan disappeared into the brush. He didn't sigh, but he did allow himself the small pleasure of knowing that he was returning to normal. Good. That'll do just fine.

**Varua- Afternoon**

**--- Mort hadn't caught on that** he wasn't quite as alone as he used to be. He knew his head felt full and fuzzy, but he had a few memories of last night, all of which involved drinking. He would have moments where he blacked out for a period of time to jerk into wakefulness. He didn't know that was when Shooter would gain control and use his body. I was too much to consider this early in the morning.

He had breakfast and killed much of the morning chatting with Donnie and Ichabod. The were soon joined by Duke (He finally remembered that he wanted to have a few words with the security system's creator.) and the four of them beat their hangovers into submission with their Billy clubs of pleasantry. Then came Sam, who had their immunity clue in hand, and learned the nature of the challenge.

Soon enough, the tribe was ready to go. Inaga led the way, helping Hahaga gain the feel of the paths to and from the clearing. And today, the clearing had 10 individual stations with the name of a Survivor and a colored box inside. Doth Hahaga and Inaga were mixed evenly throughout the semicircle.

"Varua! Welcome to your first individual immunity challenge and today's is an easy one. It's a trivia game. I will ask everybody the same questions and you will answer through your cube. Each side has a different answer: true, false, a, b, c and d. Your cube determines your answer. If you're right, you move to the next question. Get it wrong, however, and you're done. All right Survivors, easy enough? Let's begin.

"Rapa Nui was discovered on what day? A, Christmas. B, Easter. C, Veteran's Day or D, Thanksgiving?"

Everybody rolled their eyes and turned it to B, save Bon-bon who had the B facing towards her where she could read it.

"The correct answer is B, Easter. Bon-bon, you're out.

"What?" she yelled.

"Your cube says 'False.'"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" She flashed her hot pink cube at the host. The side she showed did say B, but not the way she'd been holding it. A hissy fit late, Bon-bon was sulking on the bench, and the game began again.

"What country does Rapa Nui belong to? A, Bolivia. B, America. C, Peru. D, Chile."

The questions got progressively harder as men dropped like flies. Soon, only Axel and Ichabod were left.

"The largest moai ever made was over 100 feet long. True or false?"

Both took a moment to ponder the question and flipped their cubes accordingly. Ichabod's black cube read 'True,' Axel's sky blue cube read 'False.'

"The answer… is false. The largest moai is only 72 feet tall. Axel wins the first individual immunity!"


	9. The Allure of a Bonbon

**Title: **Johnny Survivor

**Rating**: PG-13 for stuff that shouldn't have happened but… did…

**Summary: **Another Survivor bites the dust, but several others find themselves in a compromising situation. Or two. Possibly three, depending on how you look at it. Much Bon-bon, Shooter, Sands, Spencer, Psnoo and 2 new angels make it to the island. Vague enough? I sure hope so. I'm not delaying the inevitable. Noooo…

**Author's Notes: **Golly… I didn't see any of this coming. Freaked the living daylights out of me, it did. I'm a firm believer in giving the characters their own free will but… I think there should be a limit too. At least since this foul thing's happened. This isn't any realm of Survivor I've ever been to. The characters kind of ran away from me. No Johnnies were killed, but yes, a few were injured and psychologically scarred. Through no fault of my own, you understand, I didn't tell him to do it. I'm merely an observer. I'm still really kinda sorry for what happened though. Buckle up kiddies, there's angst in them thar hills. Thanks go to Psnoo for her contribution(s), to CC and Little Fox for listening in and making sure nothing really bad happened, and SS, as always for an edit well done.

* * *

**The Allure of a Bon-bon**

**Last time on Johnny Survivor…**

**---** **It was a battle of** wits with island trivia. The Survivors had colored cubes to indicate their answers, and if their answer was wrong, they were eliminated. It was a fierce battle throughout, but in the end, only Axel had successfully answered all the questions guaranteeing him immunity. Tonight is the first tribal council in which the combined tribe of Varua will have to vote someone off the island.

**Varua- Tribal Council**

**--- It was a death march **that was trooping to the council. Axel was subdued, surrounded by the people would were all potential targets. He hated this part of the game, but there was no way around it. The Survivors had knowingly or not congregated in their original teams, but there'd been no conversations of any kind. Nobody knew each other well enough to vote for a person, save for someone from their own team and that was suicidal. The teams had to stick together or there was no telling who would be left.

"Welcome back Survivors. I see you've been adjusting to your new teams fairly well. How would you describe the chemistry? Ichabod?"

"Well… we were familiar with each other before, and we had our previous teams so I don't think it was so bad. We work well because we have to and also because we're pretty amicable."

"Any cross teams hostilities?" the host grinned.

Spencer smirked, "Probably."

"Really? You, Spencer?"

"Sure, why not?"

Sands rolled his eyes. "Show off."

Spencer batted his eyelashes charmingly.

"I see…" The host trailed off, more than amused. "So, aside from a few rivalries, all's well on the western front?"

"I think so. We're good men for the most part and are generally above such nonsense," Donnie grinned.

"Axel, are you going to hang on to immunity for these three days or would you like to give it up?"

"Um, I'd like to keep it, please," Axel nodded.

"Fair enough, fair enough. How's about we get down to the vote? Axel, do the honors?"

**Axel**

**--- "I don't know. I have **no idea. You're all incredibly nice and funny and… Alright. I vote for Bon-bon because you're kind of air-headed and I just don't see you lasting that long. I'm sorry."

**Bon-bon**

**--- "I'm going to have to **vote Donnie just because he doesn't strike me as the type of person to improvise and that's what Surviving is about."

**Spencer**

**--- "Sheldon J… to keep things **interesting between us, I'm a votin' you out. But you're a peach, y'know that?"

**Sands**

**--- "I really hate being predictable**, but sometimes it's just not worth it to be contrary. Spencer… boyo… you're name is really fun to spell."

**Varua- Tribal Council**

**--- "I'll go tally the votes," **the host nodded and turned on his heel. Side glances were traded and heads bowed as they waited for the final verdict.

"Once the votes are read the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave Tribal Council immediately. The first vote. Sands."

Sands eyed his first name and middle initial. He turned to Spencer and bowed in his seat.

"Charming, Mr. Armacost."

"The second vote. Spencer."

"Likewise, Mr. Sands."

"Third vote. Ichabod."

Ichabod shrugged.

"Fourth. Bon-bon."

The votes progressed until the standings were such: 1 vote for every member of Varua except for Axel.

"The next person voted out of Survivor, Rapa Nui… is Ichabod." The host turned the paper around and Ichy's face drooped. "Bring me your torch."

Ichabod got up slowly and trudged towards the host. He stuck the stick out, so the other man could reach it.

"The tribe has spoken."

**Ichabod**

**--- "That was a hard **vote, there was no telling how it would go. I'm glad I made it as far as I did, despite not wanting to be here in the first place. I'll be happy to go home to Sarah. Last I heard, she'd been upped and that's really very exciting. I can't wait."

**Sands**

**--- "Well played Spencer, Axel. Well **played."

**Spencer**

**--- "Touché."**

**Donnie**

**--- "Sorry Ichabod… I had to **vote you off. Strategy, personal reasons… fear of your inventions… I'll make it up to you…"

**Varua- Night**

**--- The weary tribe returned to **camp minus one member. They may not have been a tribe anymore, but it still hurt to think about. However, for the optimists in the group, they were one man closer to being the sole Survivor. That would have to be the driving force behind many of them for at least a little while. It was becoming increasingly harder to wake up in the morning.

**Varua- Early morning**

**--- Bon-bon was dozing peacefully. In **fact, many of the Survivors were at rest. Even people like Sands were still dreaming about whatever it is multitudes of Johnnies dream about. However, this calm over Varua was not to last. It grates against the moai gods that govern that area of the island. They don't appreciate it when things get too easy. Not that they can overrule the all-powerful author, but even she needed some fun once in awhile. (A/N: I wrote this part pre-carnage. Can you tell?)

A scream cut the calm, Pacific air like a knife. Mort was among the first ones to wake up, immediately suspecting Shooter had been afoot. But everyone was intact and Sands, the Shooter detector, was as baffled as anyone.

"Wa's wrong, luv?" Captain Jack sparrow yawned.

Bon-bon sniffled. "I had that dream again."

"The one where you buy a Cuisinart from the Home Shopping Network, but the second it gets to your door it doesn't work?" Sands asked. People turned to stare at the Agent.

"Well, uh, you see, I then have to check every part of it when it's plugged in and it invariably cuts my hand off. You know how that goes," he finished lamely. He stopped before his foot got even further wedged in his mouth.

"The bats got you?"

"Ye ran outta rum?"

"Your wife threw water at you and electrocuted you?"

"Oh, sure, and my nightmare is any less relevant?" Sands snarled.

Bon-bon shook her head solemnly.

"It's not-…" Sam whispered.

Bon-bon looked up.

"Not the clown dream!"

Bon-bon shuddered and burst into tears. Many Survivors' eyes squeezed shut in remembrance of "the clown dream." Johnnies and clowns don't mix.

Sam sat down beside the shivering Bon-bon and wrapped an arm around her. "It's okay. You're awake now. No clowns here."

Bon-bon leaned into the comforting hold gratefully. Minutes later, after some uncomfortable shuffling, Bon-bon pulled back, a small smile on her face. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam smiled and gripped Bon-bon's shoulder in reassurance before standing up again. He didn't mind the looks of awe and disdain he got for his actions. He was doing what was right.

"What time is it?" Mort groaned. The adrenaline had ebbed, leaving a feeling of extreme lethargy.

"Too early," Duke muttered, resting his head back on the ground.

"You said it," Donnie sighed.

"I can't believe it. You just got woken up by a woman who had a dream about clowns and you're all still griping about the morning? And you're going back to sleep, no less. Are you Ameri-CAN's, or Ameri-CAN'T's?"

There was a cough. And another. Silence reigned until one voice had the gall to speak up.

"You're just annoyed that we're not afraid of Cuisinarts. Go back to sleep, Sands."

Sands suspected that he might even begin to loathe Spencer Armacost.

**Varua- Morning**

**--- Spencer did go back to** sleep and dreamed for a good, long while. It was later in the morning when he awoke again with the distinct feeling something was wrong. Not in the sense of having a clown dream blow away with the breeze, it was simply an itch at the back of his head. He scratched his scalp absently, wondering just what the problem was. It was awhile before he realized that he hadn't stopped scratching.

"What the…?" Spencer frowned. He couldn't stop. He really would itch if he stopped and if he itched, he'd be distracted all day. If he was distracted, people might try to vote him off in three days. So he scratched and tried to come up with a solution. He needed a salve, but from where? What could possibly do the trick?

"Try this. It works wonders," Bon-bon held out an unmarked jar. Spencer watched it warily.

"Where did you get that?"

"I wouldn't think it would matter where it came from so long as it did the trick," Bon-bon replied shortly. She drew her hand back again, but continued to watch Spencer. He was considering. He was really considering.

"Give it," Spencer growled. Bon-bon rolled her eyes and passed it over.

"For your information, it came from my own magic pocket."

"But you don't have a magic pocket," Spencer was applying the jelly to the back of his head where he felt a lump beginning to form. The skin was instantly soothed on contact. Spencer sighed happily.

"I know that." Bon-bon skipped away before Spencer could question it. However, when he reviewed the conversation and statistics, Spencer cringed and buried the jar under a rock. But he didn't wash the salve off.

**Varua- Afternoon**

**--- Donnie hadn't gone on any **hunting trips recently and in truth, had been craving fish. Axel had effectively cut down on fish consumption, and the odd fish was simply not enough any more. He had a feeling that the former Hahaga tribe wouldn't mind helping out with dinner, if it meant good seafood. He searched for the fishing equipment and trotted back towards the beach. Sands was absently sifting sand through his fingers and Mort was napping again. Johnnies everywhere were either too lazy or unimaginative to do anything.

"Who wants to come fishing?" Donnie called. Axel refused to look up, but several people did.

"There's not really enough equipment to go around, but we can switch off and maybe get some better food out of it," Donnie shrugged.

"I'm in," Duke stood up. Sands followed suit, more than bored with the current affairs. Mort _was_ napping, his argument being that he was saving his strength. Shooter was very much awake though and watching the clouds drift by. When he heard the call for fishermen go out, he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself into a kneeling position. It looked like a good crew, just small enough.

"Can Ah join your club?"

**Shooter**

**--- "Ah think mah accent's getting **better. Iffin they can't tell it's me, then Ah'd say Ah was in a right sweet spot. Ah been practicin' th'northern dialect since that man Sands said 'e could tell it was me. Now, Ah can blend in if Ah have to and it's all for the greater good of Bon-bon. Mort doesn't want her and she don't want him, but did anybody stop to ask what Ah, wanted? No. Not once. They're either going to acknowledge that Ah have _those_ feelings for Bon-bon and accept them, or Ah'll find that Ah might have to search out a shovel in the back pocket… Ah will go fishing, if only to get a plan of attack together. And maybe do in the Sands person while Ah'm at it. That agent is entirely too nosy for his own good. And that just isn't good for anybody."

**Varua- Afternoon**

**--- "I guess we can go** out in pairs," Donnie was saying. "Duke can come with me and since you and Sands seem to get along fine-…" Shooter grinned on the inside, "so you guys can be a pair."

"Sounds good to me," he smiled beatifically.

"Did you get into Duke's stash?" Sands cocked an eyebrow.

"Nope, not me. Ah didn't steal anything," Shooter shook his head. _Ah jes don't see ye survivin' this here fishin' trip…_

"Right…" he nodded slowly.

"We'll go first, just to see if I remember how it's still done." Donnie was still lost in his world of fishing. Duke was stripping down to a pair of swimming trunks, having just taken a hit of something behind the FBI man's back. CIA Agent Sands was used to it and on top of that, he had more pressing matters to deal with.

**Sands**

**--- "Shooter's not that out of it.** Besides, no accent. Mort's never that loopy and I really don't think he's been into Duke's case. I hope it's only that he hasn't been getting enough sleep, except there's got to be a line somewhere around 12 hours…"

**Varua- Afternoon**

**--- Shooter was digging in the **back pocket. What he was searching for, Sands couldn't say, but he was more than alarmed when Shooter grinned triumphantly and raised his fist in the air.

"Gum?" He offered the pack of Wrigley's Spearmint to Sands.

"Why would I want bubble gum?"

"Don't be tetchy, I'm just offering." It was Mort's turn to look confused.

"Sorry. I recently had a bad gum experience," Sands muttered.

"That makes sense. It only takes one," Mort nodded philosophically.

"Yeah…" Sands trailed off, watching Duke diving below the surface of the water. Shooter smiled. This would be easy. He gripped the shovel in his back pocket firmly and pulled it slowly out. The agent still hadn't turned around.

"Ah'm about done fussin' with you," he murmured. He drew the shovel back, and let it fly…

**--- Sands heard a whistling of** an object moving through the air at a fast pace. It didn't sound like a bird, more like a baseball bat. He turned to face the enemy only to have his shoulder explode in pain. Little did he know that the movement had probably saved his life. He dropped to the ground, but still had sense enough to roll out of the way of danger. It would still be awhile before he could figure out what had happened. 

**---Someone had been lying with** their ear to the ground for awhile now, due to a tip from the worried author (who happened to be Sands' Angel and this sort of thing doesn't go unnoticed). Psnoo popped out of Shooter's back pocket with the intention of running interference.

"Just what do you think you're doing? You can't go around braining poor, defenseless, Johnnies! They've all got angels! Someone will notice if one goes missing, buster. And then you're going to have a mad angel--besides me--opening a can of whoopsmeep on you," Psnoo growled.

"Ah don't know what you're talking about," Shooter replied casually. The cat was out of the bag, no need to reign in the accent any longer. No matter the accent, it was still the wrong thing to say.

"DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT?!?!?!?!? IS THIS NOT A SHOVEL!?!?!?!?!?" Psnoo yelled, gesturing at what was clearly a shovel in Shooter's hand. Shooter glanced downward.

"It's not a shovel. It's'n instrument uh justice."

"I'm going to 'instrument of justice' you, bucko. Gimme that." She extended her hand for the garden tool, but Shooter moved it behind his back.

"Ah'm not inclined t'be givin' this t'you because Ah'm not finished yet." As though to make his point, Sands' groans were heard from the crumpled form. He was coming around slowly, but surely.

"I'm going to finish you yet. Care to find a burned patch in the garden when you get home?" Psnoo placed her hands on her hips.

"You touch mah garden, some worse things are gonna start happenin'," Shooter snarled.

"Are you threatening me? Are you threatening me? You must be, because I'm the only angel here."

"Iffin I got t'get through you t'get t'him, Ah wouldn't think twice."

"You're so smeepin' sexy when you're threatening," Psnoo sighed and kissed Shooter lightly. Shooter paused. He knew that Psnoo was trying to distract him, but he didn't exactly mind either.

"Yer awful persuasive when ye wanna be."

"Mmm... where's your hat? You know I love the hat."

"Ah don't rightly know... Ah think Mort hid it somewhere..."

"Too bad." She kissed him again.

Sands had taken the opportunity to get to his feet. He was a bit wobbly and worse for wear, but he could see what had happened. It seemed he'd underestimated Shooter. Well, he wouldn't be doing that twice. As Psnoo kissed Shooter again, he slipped behind the hick and yanked the shovel out of his hand.

"What d'ye think yer doin'?" Shooter glared at Sands.

"Well... you know I could ask the same of you, Shooter." Sands wasn't happy.

"Wanna kiss?" Psnoo asked hopefully. Sands and Shooter turned simultaneously, Shooter wearing a look of interest, Sands of exasperation.

"I'll take that as a no. Well, okay. Back through the pocket then," she shrugged.

"You can hop in mah pocket any day, liddle lady," Shooter smirked.

She frowned. "Remember; good behavior from now on, or the corn gets it." Then she jumped back into the pocket, pausing only to deliver a pinch to his...forehead...before she was gone.

Sands watched Shooter, a whole myriad of emotions crossing his pale features. "I ought to take this shovel and slug you." "Ye oughtta, but ye won't," Shooter smirked. Sands didn't answer. He swung the shovel at the confident southern gentleman, only to have him snag the handle before any damage was done.

"Let go and let me hurt you," Sands hissed. "What's right is right, after all."

"Ah'm not lettin' you anywhere near me with that thing, pilgrim. Ye might put somebody's eye out." Shooter grinned. Sands' eyes darkened instantly and he shoved Shooter backwards while maintaining his grip on the shovel.

"You take that _back_ you-…"

"Helloooooo down there!" a voice called down from above. Sands broke off his attack to focus on the enemy flying in from the direction of the sun. Shooter took the opportunity to tear his justice instrument out of Sands' momentarily lax fingers and brandish it in front of him like a sword. The agent cursed and backed away, wondering which was the bigger threat. Probably Shooter, but he couldn't chance another distraction. The last one had just put him at a huge disadvantage. Shooter, despite the name, was an excellent shoveller.

"Duuuuuuke! Where are yoooooou?"

There was a splashing out in the ocean and one of the diving pair resurfaced. "Fiend?" Duke called.

"Duke!"

"Fiend?"

"DUKE! Up here!"

Even Shooter watched as a great shape appeared in the sky and grew steadily larger. It swooped out of the sun like a giant manta ray and spiraled lazily towards the beach. Duke was swimming at the shore to catch up with what was presumably the Fearless Fiend. Sands and Shooter broke apart before either one could take advantage of the phenomenon.

Fiend landed rather gracefully on the beach, sending several Johnnies running from camp and the other end of the beach. It is sort of hard to miss a person parachuting onto your beach after all. And as they saw the angel, they also saw Sands clutching his shoulder absently while Shooter leaned on a shovel. Bon-bon's heart sank.

**Bon-bon**

**--- "It's that… southern man again,** I know it. He's out to kill the person that knows who he is. And then he'll go after me. This is causing so much trouble… I wish I'd never even set eyes on Morton Rainey!"

**Varua- Afternoon**

**--- "Mort?" Bon-bon called. She was** still a good fifteen or twenty yards from the pair, but the sooner she could get a bead on the situation, the better.

"Oh, you got you a wrong number, missus," Shooter winked.

"Shooter?" Fiend cocked her head.

"Tha's right! 'N Ah've decided that Ah ain't gonna' be walked on anymore. Ah want Bon-bon, 'n Ah won't put up with anyone takin' her away from me. Startin' with you," Shooter pointed the shovel sinisterly at Sands. Sands had never wanted anything in his life than to be able to end this like he always did: shoot first, ask later. But he had no guns, and no conceivable weapon to speak of, save for maybe a rock. Neither Psnoo, nor Arenas would much appreciate Johnny-cide either, but that would mean Sands would have to improvise. And when he improvised, someone got hurt.

"Ay! What're ye on about, Mort?" Jack had trotted ahead of the rest of the startled Survivors to close the gap between himself and Shooter.

"Outta mah way, pirate." Shooter brought the shovel around and swatted Jack aside with the flat of the blade. His eyes never wavered from Sands', who hadn't backed down.

"Duke, when'd this happen?" Fiend leaned close to her Johnny, who had just staggered up the beach from the sea.

"Beats me, man, I've been out in the ocean too long."

"Should we do something?"

"Uh… sure. Why not," Duke shrugged. He took up his case and checked the security of the contents. They'd keep, Duke would make sure of that. But he wouldn't be able to say the same of Shooter. He hefted the case and cocked it over his shoulder. He'd need momentum for this to work. With a running leap, he tried to bring the heavy thing down on top of Shooter with minimal permanent damage. It has been the pounding feet that alerted Shooter. He pivoted away, untouched, and whacked Duke squarely in the back. The journalist went flying, landing spread-eagled with the wind knocked out of him with the case bouncing several yards away.

"Oh no you don't!" Fiend yelled, launching herself at the eerily calm Shooter. She landed with her arms wrapped tight around his neck to try and get him off balance. "Nobody hits my Duke and gets away with it! And SJ torture is _my_ realm, you hear me? MY realm!"

"What was that last one?" Sands asked.

"Tell you later," Fiend called.

"Oh," he nodded weakly.

"You will unhand me right now!" Shooter snarled. He was about to inflict some kind of serious damage when the author decided she wouldn't take this kind of Johnny abuse any longer. Sands alone getting walloped had set her on edge. Then Jack, Duke and now the possibility of the Fiend and it was fair to say she was getting uber annoyed. It was getting out of hand and something would have to be done. So she imagined herself on the beach of Easter Island between Shooter and Sands, fully intent on taking matters into her own hands.

"Drop the shovel."

"Excuse me?" Shooter looked up from his grip on the Fiend's forearm. Right into the muzzle of a very intimidating gun.

"Drop. The. Shovel. Do not make me say it again," Arenas said ever so calmly.

" 'N what makes ye think Ah'm afraid uh that water gun uh yers?" Shooter sneered. Arenas smirked, pointed the gun at a faraway patch of dirt and squeezed the trigger. The ensuing blast proved that it was most definitely not the Agente's customary water pistol.

"Ah never asked ye t'fear mah water pistol. You jes managed to push me over th'edge, Mr. Shooter. Ah'm warnin' ye t'watch out fer this here gen-you-wine pistol Ah got in mah hand," she drawled. She readjusted her aim back to Shooter who was now eyeing the gun with a new respect.

" 'N iffin Ah still don't comply with yer request?"

"Well, I'm just not going to be held accountable for my actions now, am I? I can always just give SJ his gun back. That going to bother you any? You can be sure he won't be as patient as I am. As it is, you're going to give up your shovel now. Right now."

"You sure ye ain't gonna get in trouble if yah kill me off?" Shooter raised an eyebrow.

"SJ?"

"Arenas?"

"You know how to shoot a guy and not kill him in the process, don't you?"

"I would have to say so."

"Good," Arenas grinned.

"Psnoo won't appreciate it," Shooter growled.

"I'd imagine. That's why I'd really rather not have to resort to this." She tucked the pistol into her belt. "But I've got one last bargaining tool. I don't want to hurt you, Shooter. I don't. But if you don't give me that smeeping shovel…" Arenas paused to dig around in her pocket. Shooter stumbled backward in alarm when she whipped out a smallish object. She flicked it open and paused with her thumb hovering over the keypad. "Psnoo might disagree with my methods, but she doesn't agree with some of yours, either. Continue to be a smartsmeep with me, and I won't think twice about appealing to Psnoo about terminating your corn garden. Can you dig it?" She smirked at the lame garden joke.

"She tried that one already."

"True, and if Psnoo can't do it, just know that I'm very skilled in rigging the game. I've got Gabe on my side you see, and he's a very capable computer. He'll see things my way."

"You do that 'n ye won't be seein' yer SJ alive much longer!"

Arenas sighed. Spencer was bad, but Shooter was horrible. If she handed Bon-bon over, there was no telling what DB or even Bon-bon would do. If she let Shooter continue his single-minded destruction, she couldn't be sure if Sands or another Survivor would live through it. And she couldn't give SJ a gun, end of story. But she needed that shovel. Taking a man's corn when he still had a shovel was terrifically stupid.

"Y'know… I bet Secret Window was a much better story than Sowing Season. Who wants to read a story about a stupid garden of beans anyway?" She shrugged and pocketed the phone.

"You take that back!"

"Um… no. Fiend, want to unhand Mr. Shooter so I can convince him the error of his ways?"

"You do know the ending to Sowing Season was better, don't you?"

Arenas glared. Fiend shrugged and let Shooter out of her chokehold. "If you need the case, lemme know." With that, the Fiend went to aid Duke in his recovery.

"Ah'd like t'see you write a better story."

Arenas grinned and approached. "Me too. But in the mean time, I'd like to ask what you plan on doing about my ripping on your story."

"Ah'm thinkin' someone's aimin' t'have their head lopped off with a shovel."

Arenas stopped in front of Shooter. "Really? Well, you know what I have to say on the subject."

"What d'ye got t'say 'n more importantly, why do Ah care?"

"You tell me." Arenas' hand darted out and snagged the handle of the shovel. Before he could realize what was happening, she yanked the shovel out of his hand. Shooter sneered and pulled another shovel out of the pocket.

"Stop that!" Arenas yelled, grabbing the new shovel as well. She tossed one to Fiend and one to Jack, before taking out the gun again. Shooter had a third shovel halfway out. "Pull it and I'll call Gabe, destroy your corn, and make it exceedingly difficult to walk."

Shooter didn't look happy, but he pushed the shovel back into the pocket. Bon-bon, who'd been watching intently, nearly fainted with relief. Arenas didn't holster the gun immediately; she turned to the Fiend.

"Mind helping keep an eye on the dairy farmer from Mississippi?"

The Fiend shook her head. "If that means no one's going to be seriously harming any more Johnnies, I'll consider it a duty."

"Yer gonna' watch me?"

"I could destroy the corn, do you really want to push me?"

"Why don't you, then?"

"Because I like corn, savvy? Now keep quiet. I don't want another sound from you unless you're Mort."

"How d'ye know he ain't dead?"

Arenas rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Because I'm the omniscient author and I know everything. Duh, Sherlock."

**Varua- Late Afternoon**

**--- It was a long day.** Shooter hadn't budged, and Mort has yet to say hello. The former Inaga tribe had grown tired of waiting and went to keep themselves occupied. Donnie had popped up later, with a good collection of fish, but didn't say anything when he noticed the looks of strain running around the Shooter-watching circle. It was comprised solely of the former Hahaga tribe minus Jack (who had gone to find other entertainment as well) and the two angels.

"You Mort yet?" Arenas asked.

"Ah thought you was th'omniscient author."

"How's the shoulder, SJ?"

"Just… wonderful."

"You ran out of cigarettes, didn't you?"

"Mhmm."

She sighed and gave him a pack of candyettes. "It's all I've got," she shrugged. Sands stubbornly played with a booklet of matches. She tossed the pack at him anyway and stared into the dirt.

"What if we hit him on the head?"

"Duke?" Fiend asked.

"Y'know when uh… someone suffers head trauma… they sometimes forget who they are and… maybe we can… rattle Mort loose."

Arenas raised an eyebrow, "Are those the illegal substances talking, or what?"

"Does it matter?" The Fiend hugged Duke.

"Don't Ah get a say in this?"

"Think Psnoo's going to kill us?"

"Psnoo killing us over a knock to Shooter's head versus CC, me, and any number of angels killing you over several Johnny murders?"

"Hey, you're good at that angst stuff."

"It's a talent, but that's beside the point."

"Well… I'm kind of anti Johnny injuries, but I'm starting to think I'm not going to get a choice," Arenas glanced at Shooter.

"Ah can't just call Mr. Rainey up at will."

"That's why we're going to help you," Fiend grinned.

" 'N iffin Ah ain't gonna let you?"

"Do you really want to go through that again?"

Shooter never got to answer. His eyes glazed over and he toppled to the dirt, clearly unconscious. Sands was leaning on a shovel, calmly chewing on a candyette.

"You were taking too long," he shrugged.

"Sorry," Arenas furrowed a brow.

"Not a problem." He sauntered over to stand behind his Angel and wrapped his arms around her shoulders before giving her a peck on the cheek. "I wanted to return the favor, anyway."

"But Shooter didn't hit you on the head."

"He was going to, I could tell."

Mort's body moaned. An arm flung outwards.

"Bets on his sanity?" Sands murmured wryly.

"Sh," Arenas nudged her Johnny. Duke had no such problems. He ambled towards the shivering body and poked it.

"C'mon, you swine."

Mort's hand flapped, trying to bat the finger away. Duke withdrew, watching the other man intently. Mort rolled over so he now presented his back to the onlookers. Aside from that, he didn't move.

"Wake up, whoever you are," Arenas chided Mort.

"I thought you were the omniscient author and knew these things," Fiend asked.

"I was bluffing."

"Oh."

Duke was poking again, and Sands had joined in. Bon-bon, who'd been quiet for awhile now, stood up. She crouched by Mort's side, brushing the two men's hands away.

"Mort? Time to wake up."

Arenas raised a brow in question.

"Even if he hates me late, at least I'll be sure _he_ woke up and not… Shooter," she spat. Arenas nodded encouragement.

"Mort? C'mon Mort, you've got to wake up."

Mort curled up in a ball.

"Mort." Bon-bon laid a hand on his side, trying to coax him but of his protective position. He tensed at the contact.

"Mort, open up for Psnoo. Please? You want to see Psnoo again, don't you?"

"Psnoo?" The voice was quiet, pleading.

"Yes, Psnoo. You've got to wake up if you want to see Psnoo again.

"Psnoo." The body released slightly. One chink undone in the armadillo armor.

"You remember Psnoo."

"Psnoooooo…" It had been sighed.

"Aren't you going to wake up for her?"

"I wanna take a nap."

"You've been napping for awhile now. You sure you don't want to wake up?"

"Wanna see Psnoo."

Bon-bon had almost made the mistake of promising something she had no control over. Psnoo did pop up at odd intervals, but it was usually Arenas' call as to the allowance of visiting angels. She turned to Sands' angel, wondering what she should say.

"Psnoo," Mort said again. Arenas nodded, knowing the well being of the Johnnies was the top concern over a silly game that recently had gone over the edge of the map and beyond.

"Psnoo will be here, don't you worry," Bon-bon patted Mort's side soothingly. It was instantaneous.

"Aaiiiee!!!" Practically out of the blue Psnoo came crashing down out of the... well, out of the blue sky. She bounced off the sandy ground a few times before ending up flat on her back, glaring up through a tangle of bed hair at the group of Johnnies and two angels who were staring down at her.

"Alright, who imagined me here? I was having a great nap while Little Fox was working on her assignment. What the smeep demanded I be so rudely awakened?"

"Your Morty-bear, for you information," Bon-bon snapped. "Shooter didn't seem to agree with him."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but Shooter doesn't agree with anyone. In fact, he's fatal for most." Psnoo climbed to her feet, her hands to a painful lower back. "Don't worry. No one need ask if I'm alright. I think the smeeping ground broke my fall."

Arenas sighed. "Can't you both please not be at each other's throats? This is sort of a delicate operation here if you hadn't noticed. Yell at each other later when Mort's not in danger of taking the coward's way out."

Bon-bon looked sharply at the haggard agent and bit her lip on the retort she'd had on the tip of her tongue. "I imagined you here Psnoo, to fix Mort. I'm not the person to do it and I acknowledge that. Just make him better."

"First George, and now you," Psnoo grumbled. "Johnnies these days... imagining angels wherever they want, willy-nilly..." The grumbling continued as she limped over to her unconscious Johnny. "Wake up."

Mort didn't move immediately. He seemed to shrink even further. "Psnoo?"

"Yes. A very pained and disgruntled Psnoo. Wake up." Pouting, she plopped down on the ground beside him. "I think my glasses got bent."

"Psnoo... Shooter. Shooter! Shooter!" He began shivering with each howled chant. Several people winced.

"Oh shush." Looking around, Psnoo sighed and then started searching through her magic pocket for something. "Gameboy...no...bat...no...last week's electric bill...why can't I ever find money?" She kept searching, pulling out bananas, candyettes, a croquette set, a stuffed raccoon, plans for a devastating April Fool's day...never mind...etc, etc, etc...

Finally though, she found what she wanted. A jumbo size bottle of smelling salts. What with Johnnies fainting (Ichabod), or taking nose dives (George), or loosing conscious for other varied reasons, she always made sure she had enough on her. With a grim smile, she held the bottle under Mort's nose.

During one particularly violent yell, he had no choice but to get a giant whiff of the pungent stuff. He began coughing and bucking. The racking coughs caused him to uncurl from his defensive position and crab walk away from the smell. It was awhile before he could form a true coherent thought. When he finally looked at the assembled group, he looked hurt.

"It actually happened, didn't it?"

"Don't ask me," Psnoo said, flopping down beside him. "I just got here."

"Shooter. Shooter got away from me. It really happened." His voice cracked and his eyes grew wider. "I tried to kill you." He pointed at Sands. "And you..." His finger wandered around the circle, resting on Duke and Fiend briefly. "And Jack. What the smeep am I going to do?"

"Well, you could click your heels together and say 'There's no place like home,'" Psnoo sighed. Not even a kiss for my troubles. Not a peck on the cheek. What is the world coming to?

"You're not helping," Bon-bon glared at Psnoo.

"Bite me."

"Perhaps I should," she hissed. Arenas rolled her eyes and wrapped an arm around Bon-bon's shoulder and led her away as the Fiend did likewise for Psnoo, except towards Mort. But Bon-bon fought.

"I want to make sure Mort's alright!"

"And you will. You're around him a heck of a lot longer than Psnoo is. You just have to cooperate and make sure Psnoo can make him better, savvy?"

"But-!"

"As the author and DB's sidekick at one point in time, please listen to me?"

Bon-bon growled and stalked away before a worse situation could arise. Arenas sighed, and sat beside Mort.

**---"Listen to me," Psnoo groused**. "I'm about to go Sh-Psnoo at any moment. That's what happens when people get woken up from their naps."

"Have you ever tried to kill someone when you go Sh-Psnoo?" Mort asked quietly.  
"Well, there was SS when she stole the couch."

"With a shovel?"

"No...with a lack of fanfic. She never would have lasted. It's a cruel death."

"I don't know, Psnoo. I tried to kill someone. Four someones. That's not the kind of thing someone just accepts on a daily basis. I didn't want to, but Shooter did and I..."  
"You didn't kill anyone. Shooter did. Bit of a difference," Sands interjected.

"Still... I should have stopped it."

Nobody wanted to mention the fact that Shooter technically was Mort and did whatever Mort wanted.

"We've been over this Mort. You can't kill people any more. Maim...well, yeah...but not kill. Seriously injure or leave in deadly peril at the worst." Somehow Psnoo's little pep talk wasn't too encouraging. "But you don't kill anymore."

"Because I get stopped."

"Well...yeah...but I wouldn't love you as much as I do if you weren't a bit unstable."

"But I'm a danger. I know you wouldn't care if it were Bon-bon, but they were people I like!"

"Morty, listen. You're safe. They're safe. All the other Johnnies have an angel looking out for them. You've got me. Between the all of us, I think everyone's safe."

"Besides... worst comes to worst, I can always step in again. It's kinda' fun here," Arenas grinned cheesily. Mort sighed.

"Morty," Psnoo sighed. "Don't be sad. I love you just the way you are...at any give time of the day."

He smiled slightly. "You're very convincing when you want to be."

"I'm a writer. We have to be."

"I guess you're not going to let me leave, are you?"

"Are we talking physically or metaphysically? Although it doesn't matter since the answer is no either way."

"I knew you'd say that."

"It could be time to skedaddle, y'know. Before Bon-bon gets... anxious..." Arenas shrugged.

"Oh sure, she/he gets to wake me up from my nap, but then I have to leave to keep her from getting upset. Drama queen."

"Do you want to deal with DB? You can always take another nap. DB and Bon-bon might not be letting you if you... harangue Bon-bon too much.

"Am I haranguing BB? I don't see her around. Besides, Mort can tell you I act that way with anyone who wakes me up from my naps."

"That's just denial," Arenas snorted. "C'mon, let's go."

"Fine. If you're just calling me in to fix things, I guess I'll go," Psnoo sniffed, getting to her feet.

Mort stood up stiffly, trying to get his joints working again. He managed to walk towards Psnoo and wrap her in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry. I'll be good."

She whispered something in his ear that made him blush, and then stepped away, a grin on her face. "I think my work here is done." She winked at Mort. "I'll just go resume my nap." With another wink, she was gone.

The Fiend was eyeing Duke longingly. "We're going to have to plan this shindig better."

"But you helped save a Johnny. Which incidentally is better than sponsoring a Johnny because it's free," Arenas shrugged. "I'm terribly sorry about the lack of fuzz but… pressing matters, plot devices and other complicated writing devices. But you've earned a free refund visit, if it's any consolation."

Fiend rolled her eyes. Arenas grinned slightly before turning to squeeze Sands. Both Angels shared a last goodbye with their Johnnies (Arenas sparing a moment to make sure Mort was doing okay) before imagining themselves back to Angel Headquarters.

The Survivors trudged back to camp, and said nothing for a long time.

**Varua- Night**

**--- The Survivors were gathered around** the campfire. Hahaga had surrounded Mort to protect him from the Inaga stares. Mort had known what they were doing, and didn't try to stop them. It didn't seem worth it.

The meal had finished with the silent treatment still in effect. There was a need for closure, yet not one person was throwing a bone. Mort swallowed.

" 'M sorry," he murmured. Heads perked up. "I didn't think Shooter was going to be dangerous. Sands was the only one that guessed. He'd been cooperative the whole time and he just… snapped… I think. I don't know. I wasn't exactly around to find out." He seemed bitter.

"Weren't you going to warn us something like that could happen?" Spencer sneered. Mort's brow furrowed in distaste.

"It hadn't happened in awhile and it's been ages since Shooter's been… violent," Mort sighed. He wondered if he could have read the signs that Shooter was going to go postal. It didn't seem like there was much he could do, aside from giving people proper warning and he couldn't even do that. Shooter was a problem. He'd have to be dealt with or Mort would have to throw the game to save his friends. He felt a pressure on his shoulder and looked up to see Bon-bon squeezing it reassuringly.

"Now's not the time to think those thoughts," she murmured.

"What thoughts? Who's thinking?" Mort asked innocently.

"I know you don't want my help. I was just offering a chance to get things off your chest," Bon-bon turned away. Mort bit his lip and hung his head. Bon-bon _had_ been good. She no longer had a physical attraction for him; she'd only been extending the olive branch and Mort had just shot her down.

"Sorry," Mort muttered. Bon-bon didn't reply, but she didn't seem agitated either. "I'm still feeling kind of icky."

"Understandable," she replied absently.

"How did you realize you wanted to be a transvestite?" he blurted. She turned, a look of surprise contorting her features.

"Excuse me?"

"I believe the man asked how you got into the cross dressing business," Sands grinned. He had another candyette dangling out of the corner of his mouth that had been keeping him at ease. Mort blushed.

"Oh… well… I suppose it started with a drumstick."

"Drumstick?" Mort echoed.

"Yes. It's broken now. The tip came off."

Sands couldn't stifle his laughter. Even Duke, who'd only been keeping half an ear on the conversation had to smirk.

"You're kidding," Spencer buried his head in his hands. He didn't particularly want to hear the history of the creepiest Survivor. He wanted sleep. And salve. The itch had started again recently and he wasn't appreciative of it.

"No. I'm not," Bon-bon glared at Spencer. "I used it when I used to style my hair when I was little."

"Well that was exciting," Sands grinned.

"What got you into a government agency then?" Donnie asked pointedly. "I'm curious."

"Me and the CIA go way back. Started with my dog, in fact. Ragz. And it's a Z; spell it with an S and I will hunt you down myself. Ragz was a trick dog, wearing all kinds of hula skirts and weird clothing. One day, he got abducted. There was a ransom note pinned to the front door that said 'Very sappy Ragz.' Naturally, I tried looking for him in the maple syrup factory and the pine forest, but I couldn't find him. I figured, if anyone could find him, it'd be the CIA. The truth _is_ out there, amigos."

"That's The X-Files. FBI," Donnie smirked.

"Well, I never watched that lame show anyway. Spencer. What got you into the human business?" Sands smiled pleasantly.

"The headline of a newspaper called The New Yorker. 'Humans Clearly Best Species Around.' It intrigued me and I didn't think that it could possibly lie to someone like myself. Of course, that loser Spencer Armacost wandering into my path didn't hurt any," he shrugged.

Mort's mouth lifted into the first smiled of the day. Whether they were purposefully trying to cheer him up or not was debatable, but it sure was doing the trick. "You people are crazy."

Sands rolled his eyes. "I thought we discussed this already. I'm a psychopathic, schizophrenic jerk, remember?"

"That's right, Jeffrey."

"I'm always right."

"How's the shoulder?" Mort winced.

Sands rotated the tender joint slowly. "It's been better, but it's been worse, too. Nothing quite compares to a bullet hole so forgive me if I don't give you a medal for most painful wound." His mouth twitched into a humorless smile.

"I'm not sure I'd want one," Mort sighed.

"Now's def'nitely not th'time t'start mopin', mate," Jack shook his head.

"No, probably not. Listen, I need a cigarette, can anyone spot me-…"

Sands extended the open pack of candyettes. Mort groaned, but took one anyway.

"Do these really work?"

Sands shrugged. "I haven't killed anyone yet, so I'd guess so."

Mort stuck it into the corner of his mouth experimentally. It didn't have any odd effects, so he left it in. Duke joined the chewing crowd, screwing a fresh one into his filter.

"How does that work?" Sam asked.

"It's magic," he mumbled.

"Listen, I don't want to ruin the lovefest, but I really want to get some sleep. So can we all kindly keep our voices down to about a two?" Spencer asked as shortly as a kindergarten teacher would.

"Go to sleep then," Sands shrugged. "We're not stopping you."

"Sweet dreams of Cuisinarts tonight," he replied acidly. He then returned to the shelter, where he'd crept off to when Mort had slipped into his momentary funk.

"Smeep it," Sands swore. Duke poked him in the shoulder. Sands hissed and scooted away from the clearly annoyed Duke.

"I know what you were going to say."

"So do I," Sands grumbled.

"I will be turning in as well. There is a challenge tomorrow and we've had a busy day today. I suggest we all go to sleep," Bon-bon spoke up. She had a point, no matter how little the Survivors wanted to hear it. A challenge on little sleep with sore muscles (for the privileged few that got to play with Shooter) was not something they wanted to fathom.

**Varua- Early Morning**

**--- Sands woke up in a **cold sweat with a rock in his hand. He leaped to his feet and stumbled out of the shelter.

"Stupid HSN!" he yelled, hurling the rock against a tree. It was this point that he woke up in earnest. He looked towards his wrist to watch a hand pop out of the end of his sleeve.

"Hey, my hand's back, whadduya know?" He glanced at the sky that had yet to start turning pink and rubbed his eyes. When he finished, he was looking down the beach towards the ocean. He froze. There was a lump out there. A familiar one.

"Hey, sailor."

His eyes widened as he backed away.

"Call me!" it cried.

When he got back to the shelter, he didn't fall asleep. He curled up in a ball and stayed that way the rest of the night.

**Sands **

**--- "I think I'm freaking right **out. I'm hallucinating! I don't hallucinate. I don't think… Mort seems convinced that I do, but I don't. That wasn't the turtle. No, it couldn't have been. Not the turtle. Oh my stars… turtles aren't supposed to _do_ that!"

**Varua- Morning**

**--- Mort woke up with an** uncomfortable weight on his chest. Blinking open sleep heavy eyes, he tried to focus on the blob sitting on top of him.

"That you, John Wayne?"

" 'R ye th'hick or th'writer?" Jack asked.

"… what?"

"What be yer name, mate?"

"Mort…"

"Yer _whole_ name."

"Morton Rainey."

"Aye. Ye pass."

"I wasn't aware I was being tested…" Mort was still confused.

"Tha's how I know ye passed," Jack grinned.

"Oh…"

"Well done." He clapped Mort on the shoulder, stood up, and walked away. Mort shook his head, patting the ground for his glasses. He was awake now, and there was no point in giving Shooter the chance to take over without a fight.

**Varua- Morning**

**--- Spencer had gotten some quality** sleep, but he woke up feeling worse than when he'd gone to bed. His mouth was dry, and he couldn't swallow. He felt hot, and sticky, and generally yucky.

"What the…" he groaned. It didn't quite come out that way, though. He had virtually no voice to speak of. It looked like the flu, if Spencer had known what influenza was.

He let his head fall back on the ground, the welt on the back of it instantly flaming up in pain. He hissed, rubbing it to alleviate the itching. It would be another long day. So he went back to sleep.

**Varua- Midmorning**

**--- "Spence, you look green, are **you okay?" Donnie asked. He looked genuinely concerned. Spencer waved it off and sat on the ground. Even the extra sleep hadn't helped. Sands looked to be in a similar shape; his grip on the bowl of rice was making his knuckles white.

"Wha's eatin' you?" Spencer mumbled around his unwieldy tongue.

"Oh you'll get yours, Mr. Armacost, just you wait," he snapped.

"Wha'd I do?"

"You know, jerkface. You're the reason I didn't get any sleep last night."

Spencer rolled his eyes. He didn't care what was up the agent's chimney, and it was too much effort to enjoy busting him.

"Aren't we a friendly lot," Sam grinned sympathetically. He got no look either way as nobody was being especially amicable or hostile that moment. Most Survivors were still trying to wake up.

"Mates! Moai-mail!" Jack announced, holding a roll of leather before him like something sacred. Mort yawned and Duke blinked.

"And?" Donnie pressed.

"Well, I haven't looked at it yet, mate," Jack snorted. Axel extended his hand for the clue, which Jack dropped neatly into his hand. He read through it silently.

"Survival challenge…" he murmured.

_Your food comes from you_

_Catch it, kill it, and cook it too_

_You're been cooking so well_

_Since the first night fell_

_But catch it, you've not_

_Do that and your reward is bought._

"Catch food? I've done that. It's easy," Donnie mused. Spencer just groaned and lay down on his side.

"Think it'll be something like a bird or large animals?" Sam frowned.

"Could be fish. 'S vague," Jack shrugged.

"But we get to play with sharp, pointy objects. Who cares?" Sands grinned tiredly. It hadn't been _the_ turtle. Nah… he'd just been overreacting about Spencer's Cuisinart a tad. Besides… who'd ever heard of a stalker turtle? Heh.

"You would like that, wouldn't you, you swine," Duke snorted.

"I was absent the day the Agency gave us sticks to practice with," Sands mock sighed.

_Pity_, Spencer thought.

"Well folks, may the best man win." Donnie smirked, "_I_ wasn't absent."

"I was kidding," Sands rolled his eyes.

"But we really did have pointy object training," Donnie cocked his head.

"… you lucky son of a…"

"Hey!" Duke growled.

"… gun."

**Varua- Afternoon**

**--- "Welcome, Varua. You… look a **bit worse for wear…" the host was puzzled.

"Really," Mort said.

"Mind if I ask what happened?"

"A psycho dairy farmer decided he wanted to have an opinion on his marital status and had to eliminate his only obstacle," Bon-bon replied sarcastically.

"And where, might I ask, were you when all of this happened?" Sands' eyes narrowed.

"I'm just a figurehead, I don't participate."

"Swell…" Duke groaned.

"Spencer?" The host turned to the alien who was definitely not looking too hot.

"I don't feel well," he whispered.

"Do you need to leave? Get to a hospital?"

"NO! No, no, nono. I'm fine." The green paled as he tried to smile, making him look even worse.

"Maybe you'd better-…"

"NO! For the last time no! I want to win! I can't win if I get shipped away!"

"You can't win if you die, either," Sands said quietly.

"Shut up! You can't make me!" he hissed.

The ocean breeze blew in, ruffling many a Survivor's lengthening hair. Nobody spoke. Spencer sunk to his knees.

"I got bitten by an insect, okay? That's all."

"You could be allergic."

"But I won't do well."

"You're not, quite frankly."

**Arenas' Hideout**

**--- The Agent cracked her knuckles. **She'd been hand writing this pesky story for some time now and it never ceased to amaze her. Obviously disturbed animals running around, sick Survivors… maybe she should have thought of the repercussions. But it was too late now; she'd gotten herself a following. She'd level with Spencer, because it wasn't fair that he be eliminated by a bug bite. But next chapter might have to be different. She'd cross that bridge when she came to it. But, now… Spencer.

**Varua- Afternoon**

**--- "I'm getting word that you're **to be fixed up immediately, no arguing. The author's willing to talk about the conditions," the host announced after talking on a cell phone. Spencer sighed.

"A helicopter is on its way. Today's reward challenge will be moved to a later date. You can all return to camp, but Spencer has to stay."

It seemed that all the griping had been for naught. The unhappy Varua turned back, several sparing glances for the silent Spencer.

"Bye, Alien Guy," Axel waved sadly.

"Bye, Fish Boy."

"Get better?"

"Sure."

**Varua- Night**

**--- It felt like the night **after a tribal council, but nobody was relieved. Even Sands, who could take or leave the alien on a given basis, was subdued. Each was privately wondering how much lower the tribe could possibly sink before things started to look up, but none wanted to find out. With no supervision, it was starting to look like a lost cause. The rampant turtles, strange illnesses, and sudden personality switches were beginning to take their toll on the already tired Survivors. But… they'd make it through because at the end of three days, they'd either go free, or be even closer to winning the much-coveted prize. Whatever that was.

So they sat quietly about the fire, planning their next move until they grew tired and eventually fell asleep.

**Duke**

**--- "This… this is serious. The **weasels are closing in a lot faster than I gave them credit for. First Mort and now this alien guy. We won't flee, but it's getting heavy. I don't think those desert survivor types ever had it quite like this."

**Varua- Morning**

**--- There'd been no sign of** the turtle, and the tribe was still under the weather. Some sort of irreparable funk was settled over the camp, but it was nothing that a challenge couldn't fix. The competitive nature of several Survivors wouldn't let them just roll over and give up. Not after fighting so long and hard.

"It seems that they're either running out of ideas or they just don't like us enough to come up with something clever every time," Donnie cocked an eyebrow at the parchment.

_The challenge still stands_

_Should you accept_

_Will be for immunity_

_Spencer aside._

"We don't need them to encourage us. If I remember correctly, they've done more than enough encouraging," Mort grumbled. He was thinking of the lack of supervision to promote insanity.

"They haven't discouraged it, but I wouldn't call it encouraging, either," Sam pointed out. "Nobody really seems happy that what's happening is going on, Angels, Survivors and figureheads included."

"You make too much sense. Stop making sense," Sands muttered.

"It's going to be a long walk," Duke sighed.

"Might as well go then," Axel replied quietly. "Get it over with as quickly as possible."

**Varua- Afternoon**

**--- "I sure hope none of** you have managed to injure yourselves further since our last meeting." The host looked sincere as he said it. No jest was implied, but he was still met with a stony silence. "I guess I'll take that as a no. Your challenge, if any of you remember, is to catch your food. The area you've got to roam around is plenty big and there is more than enough wildlife to support a hunt like this."

"Do we have to… kill it… whatever it is we catch?" Axel asked.

"Well, I'd sort of think you'd want something substantial for a meal, but I don't think you'd have to, no. Live capture makes it that much harder, you know."

Axel nodded. Sands looked thoughtful.

"The first Survivor to return gets extra points, but the challenge will end in one hour. The point is the catch the best animal you can with the resources that you have. Easy enough?"

The circle gave their acknowledgement.

"Survivors, on your marks… go!" The host blew a whistle and the group broke apart, Sands, Axel and Jack headings towards the ocean, Donnie, Mort, Duke and Sam heading inland. It was a leisurely activity, with a whole hour to catch whatever one could scrounge up. Donnie had found a pig, as Inaga knew, so it couldn't have been entirely hard. It just didn't help that none of them had previous tracking experience. The three that went to the ocean, however, had aces up their sleeves.

Axel, the fish whisperer, wasn't sure he'd win considering the size of the fish he normally talked to. It didn't mean he was totally out though, he'd just have to think big. He moved to a secluded part of the beach and stared out at the pristine ocean.

"Is there anyone out there who would be willing to help me win?" he called. He saw several pairs of glittering eyes below the surface that were curious about his question. He smiled apologetically. "I need a good sized creature to win immunity. Like a giant sea bass or a tuna. I promise that nobody will be hurt though. On my honor."

Many eyes disappeared, but there was a pair that remained.

**---** **Donnie didn't think he could **rustle up another boar. Even if had been able to, he wasn't sure he'd really be able to handle it with his bare hands. Axel was probably going to reel in a fish, but he didn't think Axel would bring in something much larger than three or four pounds. If Donnie could get a rabbit or two, maybe a bird, he thought he could do well enough. Quantity, not quality. He didn't know what anybody else had planned, or if Hahaga could hunt, but that wasn't the issue right then. Donnie grabbed a stick and began to sharpen it with a pocket knife.

**--- Sands didn't want to do **it, but he couldn't deny that it would be the catch of a lifetime. He didn't have the heart to finish it (her) off, no matter how much it (she) haunted him. If she could help him, though… well he wouldn't be opposed to striking a bargain. It was going to be a weird vote tonight, but he thought he might be able to do some good, even if it meant talking to an… old friend.

**---Duke wasn't sure how much** a bat or a manta ray would be worth in the grand scheme of things, but he had a feeling that those giant lizards ought to merit some big points. He snuck up behind one, eyes narrowed in concentration and tongue sticking carefully out of the side of his mouth. He had his trusty fly swatter, there was no contest whatsoever.

He leaped out of the bushes and caught one of the scurvy smeeps around the neck.

**--- Jack grinned. He didn't need** his one shot, his cutlass or anything of that nature. 'Twas his charm that would be doing the hunting for him.

**--- "Survivors, time! Donnie came back **first, so he gets five extra points. However, that may not be enough to win him immunity. Donnie, what have you got?"

"Two rabbits and a seagull." He pointed at his three catches.

"Not bad, not bad. Mort. How'd you do?"

"Uh… well… I checked the trap that everyone fell into earlier and I found a couple of small animals. Squirrel. Chipmunk," Mort didn't look up.

"All right, not quite enough to catch Donnie. Duke, you seemed busy, what happened?"

"I got a lizard," he announced proudly.

"A… lizard?"

"A big one, with vicious fangs. Almost tore me in two and stomped me. I got him though, in the end. Over a hundred pounds and then some!"

"Let's see this lizard, then."

Duke tugged on the branch he had clutched in his fist. It had been tied to Duke's wristband, which was now wrapped around the wrist of a startled looking Sam.

"What happened?" he mouthed.

"So… I win, right?" Duke asked.

"Well… I hate to break it to you, but your entry doesn't count. That's Sam," the host cocked his head.

"What?"

"That's no lizard."

Duke turned around to stare at Sam face to face. He looked at every facial feature twice to make doubly sure. When he was finished, he regained Sam's gaze again. "Alright, swine… what'd you do with my lizard?"

"Nothing, I swear!" Sam yelped.

"I caught a lizard. Now I drag it back here and it's you. Where'd my lizard go?"

"You jumped on me and tied me up and dragged me back here!" Sam yelled.

"You were the lizard?"

"Yes!"

"Well change back, smeep it!" Sands punched Duke in the shoulder. Duke didn't notice. "Where's my immunity winning lizard!"

The host decided it was better to step in, figurehead or not, than to risk an outburst. "Duke, there was no lizard. Lizards don't amount to more than iguanas out here. It doesn't matter."

"That's what you think," Duke growled.

"Sands."

"Well… I got myself a bona fide reptile and she's a beauty. I call her Babbette," Sands smirked. He went to the edge of the shrubbery, and gave a tug on some object. It didn't take long for a wizened old head to pop out and soon, an entire body to lumber out. Babbette was a good-sized sea turtle.

"You call me Babbette because that's my name. Don't you be forgetting it, sailor." Babbette glanced back at Sands who nudged her even farther forward. The host whistled.

"Well… I'd say that was a very good catch. No turtle soup?"

"No, no. I couldn't do that to a radiant creature such as Babbette," Sands shook his head quickly. Had Spencer been present, he would have brought up the cow's blood incident yet again which would have snapped frayed nerves and dragged the chapter on much longer than it needed to be. As it were, Donnie only thought it and the challenge continued on.

"Sam, I don't believe you have time to catch anything, did you?"

"No, sir," Sam's shoulders drooped.

"Maybe next time. Jack, how'd you do?"

"Well, mate… I believe ye may be havin' a standoff."

"What's that mean?"

"I got meself a sea turtle 's well."

"A sea turtle."

"Aye, a sea turtle," Jack cocked an eyebrow. He too retreated into the brush to retrieve a full sized turtle. The new one looked lazily at Babbette.

"What'd you get as a bribe?"

"Whatever's going to make it worth my while."

"Lucky."

"Well, we'll have to get a team out to weigh these guys, but you may just be right, Jack. Bon-bon?"

"Can I concede?"

"Are you sure? There's no harm in trying."

"I'll have you know that I was going to ambush somebody and have them be my catch with this live capture thing being acceptable, but Duke already did it."

"Who were you going to catch?"

"You. When I saw Duke snag Sam, I figured I'd better not."

"Oooookay. What did you catch, Axel?"

"I couldn't really carry him all the way up here. I had to leave him on the beach. Is that okay?" Axel asked.

"What is 'he,' exactly?"

"Harold. He's a tuna."

"Are all of you people this close to nature?"

"What? He had a name. I just called him by it."

"I see…"

"Does he count?"

"Well, I guess we'd have to see him."

"And totally disregard Babbette and Jack's turtle?" Sands spoke up.

"We're going to weigh all of them, just hang on," the host rolled his eyes.

"Just checking."

"We're all going to see him?" Axel seemed worried.

"Just to make sure he's there. Is there a problem?"

"I kinda promised him nobody would try and kill him and eat him. If everybody looks at him, I think someone might try anyway."

"Who?"

"Any of them."

"You people can't make things easy, can you?"

"Nope," Spencer shook his head after reading the commentary Arenas gave him to keep him out of trouble.

**Varua- Later on**

**--- When things had finally died **down and the challenge had been verified, Jack's turtle (apparently named "Sonny") had come out on top. The creatures that were still alive were let go and set free, Babbette with the grim promise that she'd be back for payment, and Sam was greatly relieved. Jack wore the immunity necklace all the way back to camp and walked with his usual drunken gait It was not so with several Survivors who had been planning on immunity to save themselves tonight.

It was little consolation to see Spencer warming himself by the fire looking much better than he had been when they last saw him.

"I wore her out," he announced proudly, by way of greeting. Axel grinned happily.

"Glad to have you back, Alien Guy."

"Indeed, Fish Boy."


	10. I Will Survive

**Title: **Johnny Survivor

**Rating**: PG-13 for a curse, drug use and Hubert H. Humphrey.

**Disclaimer: **I still own nothing. If I did, I would have remembered to say it these past couple of chapters. I'd really like to own all of the Survivors, but I'm too poor. I'll just stick with SJ then.

**Summary: **We're 3 days and 1 Survivor closer to the end. Epic battles and intense revelations be here. Anyone for a sing-along?

**Author's Notes: **No Johnny-cide! Woo hoo! There are some amorous overtones of a turtle for a man, but it's nothing that was terribly vague, right? And you can be sure I'll actually take initiative and stop this before it gets too far. I'm prepared this time, you see. Chapter dedicated to the late, great Hunter S. Thompson.

* * *

**I Will Survive**

**Last time, on Johnny Survivor…**

**In the face of adversity,** the remaining Survivors on the island were expected to catch creatures. Larger catches garnered more brownie points and some of the spectacular creatures included a tuna named Harold, two sea turtles named Babbette and Sonny, and Sam, the Survivor. Incidentally, the turtle named Sonny as caught by _Captain_ Jack Sparrow was the largest of the group and earned Captain Jack immunity.

**Varua- Tribal Council**

**There was no doubt the **game had either gotten to the point of no return or something was amiss in the administration. Whatever it was, everything was trying desperately to be as normal as possible. Heh. _Normal_. The host was as cordial as ever while the tribe filed into their customary seats. He waited for everyone to situate themselves before speaking.

"Welcome back, Spencer."

"No thanks to you," Spencer smiled coldly.

"I calls 'em as I sees 'em," the host shrugged. "As long as it's in the past."

"Sure. Whatever you say, governor." The smile didn't waver. Several Survivors rolled their eyes at the antics or exchanged tired looks. Spencer got a rest. That really wasn't fair. He had no right to be peppy.

"I hate to ask what happened this last-go-round, but I've got to. Mort, does that happen often?"

"I'm going to assume you mean Shooter."

"Sure, if that's his name."

Mort wanted to say something along the lines of 'Shucks, Pilgrim, don't ye like me?' Then he thought twice about all the problems _that_ would cause. It didn't seem to be worth it. So he said, "No. Not usually. I think it's just because he's taken a liking to Bon-bon."

"So hopefully no more of that in the future, right?"

Sands said nothing, much to Mort's relief. He could feel the stares boring into his back. He wouldn't have recovered from the caustic tongue of the agent, no matter how mild the jibe. Things were too unsteady upstairs.

"Hopefully," Mort shrugged.

"That's very reassuring. Bon-bon, any comment?"

_Oh no,_ Mort thought.

"Comment? About the fact that there is a potential killer on this island who wants to ravish me and treat me like the girl I am? Well, I'm of two opinions, since you asked. One, less maiming. Two, no coddling." She ticked them both off on her fingers.

"No coddling? I don't know; you strike me as the type of person-…"

Bon-bon glared at the host who raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture. There was a period of silence where the central bonfire popped uncomfortably.

"No coddling," Bon-bon repeated.

"Fair enough," the host answered quietly. It clearly wasn't his place to exert authority. "Anybody else have anything to say about the past three days?"

"Is Easter Island inhabited by spiteful moai demons?" Sands piped up.

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused, but is this placed overrun with evil moai gods that run everything from the challenges, to the overall luck, or even say… the wildlife?" he asked seriously.

"Some people believe that, but I'm not really of that opinion," the host seemed puzzled.

"Just checking," Sands nodded.

"If that's done, Jack, are you going to keep immunity?"

"Aye, mate."

"Very well then. The only thing different this time would be the addition of the jury. Whoever gets voted out tonight, becomes the first member of the jury. The jury is very important, it will be comprised of your fellow Survivors and they will ultimately choose the top Survivor. If you annoy them, you may not be in the best situation come the Final Two. Understand?"

"Sounds dangerous," Sands quipped.

"Oh it is. Jack, would you cast the first vote?"

"_Captain_ Jack, if ye'd be so kind." Jack got up and stretched. He took a last look at the weary travelers before wandering over to the voting circle.

**Jack**

**"I'm votin' fer you, mate, **because I think a lotta trouble could'a been avoided if ye'd only been aware. 'S bad luck t'turn yer back on th'likes of us."

**Spencer**

**"I don't know what I** missed that day and frankly, I don't care. I just don't want it to happen again if it's going to turn into another one of those mushy 'Get to Know Your Survivor' things."

**Sam**

**"Please don't hurt me."**

**Varua- Tribal Council**

**Axel returned to his seat **happy to be the last one to vote for once. The host nodded, knowing that the group could probably recite his formalities in their sleep.

"You'll go tally the votes?" Donnie asked.

The host winked. He turned to grab the Pot of Doom and returned back to his table and placed it on top like always.

"Once the votes are read, the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave Tribal Council immediately," several Johnnies chorused.

"That's my job you're stealing," the host rolled his eyes before pulling out a name. "First vote. Donnie."

Donnie snorted.

"Second vote. Mort."

The paranoia that had taken a day to shake returned in a rush up Mort's back.

"Duke."

Duke shrugged. Sam's name came up twice, and Donnie got another nod. Bon-bon got a vote, and Spencer. Donnie, however, got the last vote.

"Bring me your torch," Donnie mouthed, his shoulders slumping. He stood up and hefted his bag onto his shoulder. He presented his flame to the host whose mouth was twisted into a sad smile.

"Sorry I'm so predictable Donnie, but I've gotta' say it. The tribe has spoken."

He snuffed Donnie's flame.

**Donnie**

**"Well, that bites."**

**Mort**

**"I'm not sure, but I **think those could be the most nerve wracking moments of my life. I'm going to find grey hairs tomorrow, I know it.

**Varua- Night**

**In the grand scheme of **things, eight members had made it through another three days. And every single one of them was slated to come back repeatedly, if only to look sinisterly at the remaining Survivors. That was the optimistic viewpoint. The realists were taking it one day at a time and the pessimists were keeping quiet.

**Varua- Morning**

**Sands was vaguely aware that **he'd been sleeping and it would probably be in his best interest to wake up. To better get a jump on the day's activities and all that carp. As he slit his eyes open, he smiled sourly at the thought. It certainly seemed as though his days of cursing like a sailor were over.

_Sailor._

He forced himself not to react as he climbed to stiffening feet. There'd be time for a freak out later. Now for breakfast.

As the earliest riser of the tribe, Sands had been placed on breakfast detail. Not that it was anything special, just the repetitive heating of yucky water and the soggification of uninteresting rice. Several Inaga members had tried it with fruit, hoping for the illusion of Cheerios and bananas, but hadn't quite found it up to par. That left sticky, spongy, nasty rice. Sands himself preferred a heaping bowl of Cookie Crisp, but it wasn't something he boasted about.

"_Sailor._"

His jaw clenched. He had the distinct feeling of eyes boring into his spine The hairs on his arms were prickling. It wasn't FEAR, though his Fight or Flight mechanism had definitely kicked in. Certainly not. It was the extreme feeling of ANGST coupled with a strong sense of Uncertainty of his fate. There was a difference.

"Sailor!"

"¿Qué es tu problema?" he sighed.

"Oh, I love it when you speak Spanish!" The voice giggled and approached. "It's even more adorable when you pretend not to know why I'm here."

"That's me. Adorable."

"What's my problem, sailor? My problem is that you made me a promise too good to refuse. I'd like it if you could make good on it."

"We lost. Deal's off."

"No, no, no. You said you'd do anything if I helped you. You never said anything about winning or losing."

"Because I didn't think you'd lose and make it an issue," he replied sharply.

"You're just itching for a snog, you know that, sailor?"

"What if I say no?"

"You think this shell is just for decoration?" She had him. She thoroughly and utterly had him.

"Usted me molesta."

"I annoy you, huh? Let's see what you say when I'm through with you."

**Varua- Midmorning**

**The rice was still on **the fire when Sam woke up. The bottom of the pan was scorched and the food was no more than a white, congealed mass in the shape of the pot. That meant someone had started breakfast, but had gotten distracted or killed or… _something_. It was when he attempted to glean a clue from the surroundings that he saw the note scratched into the dirt.

_Got abducted, be back soon. Tell Spence to eat his vegetables._

_Love, Sands_

Sam frowned, wondering if he should tell someone. As it were, Spencer had read the note over Sam's shoulder and promptly said that Sands was a big boy and could take care of himself. He stalked away, scuffing the note with his toe. Sam's face fell. Mort, in a rare show of wakefulness, traded concerned glances with the polka-dotted man.

"Should we set up a search? I don't know much about tracking, but I'd be willing to give it a try," Mort cocked his head.

"Things are generally better at catching me," Sam admitted. Mort glanced at the nonchalant Varua, feeling his muscles clenching at the unfairness. It _was_ a game and nobody, not even someone like Spencer, let alone Sands, deserved to be dragged into the woods by an aborigine. That was Mort's guess. He didn't know of many animals that let their prey write notes before they were eaten. Cannibals were a long shot, but a better one than a cougar or whatever it was that lived there.

"Think he left tracks?" Mort asked.

"He did. And something else did too," Sam murmured. He was pointing at a great swishy trail beside a set of human footprints. They led down the beach, away from camp.

"Let's get Jeffrey back."

"Who?"

"Jeffrey. You know… SJ. Sands?"

"Oh," Sam nodded and smiled.

**Varua- Afternoon**

**Duke popped the capsule into **his mouth and swallowed. They could take away his cursing and his cigarettes, but they'd never get his case, smeep it. The case was what kept him going in a straight line. Reminded him why he was here. It wasn't so much the prize; it was the idea of being the one Survivor and conquering these swine. Today's pig is tomorrow's bacon. That's how Duke played the game.

Varua had thinned to a manageable size. He only counted four people out and about. Possibly only two if he accounted for double vision, but he thought it better to trust his judgment. None of them were doing anything especially exciting: eating, sunbathing, swimming and the like. Duke had had his swim and all that was left was to spook someone into action. The bats chattered in agreement. He let out a high pitched screech that sounded like a monkey on an electric fence. He did it twice. Bon-bon and Axel skidded to a halt in front of the casual Duke.

"What happened?" Axel panted.

"Are you hurt?" Bon-bon asked.

"I'm bored, actually," Duke raised an eyebrow.

"You screamed because you were bored." Bon-bon's face was blank.

"There a problem?"

"You ever hear of the boy who cried wolf?" Axel remarked wryly.

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"No."

"Because it sounds like you support the World Bank."

"World what?"

"Did you know that money goes to Italy?"

"Italy?"

"_Did you vote for Hubert Humphrey_?" Duke hissed.

"No, I swear!" Axel yelped. This was not something he'd counted on. Whoever this Humphrey was, Axel sure hadn't voted for him. He didn't think. It didn't seem as if he should, either. Bon-bon clucked and eased her way between the two men.

"Down, boy! No harassing the nice guy." She put a hand on Duke's shoulder and gently held him back as she urged Axel beyond reach. "What's your problem?"

"Me? I haven't got any problems It's this swine that likes Hubert Humphrey!"

"I've never even _heard_ of Hubert Humphrey!"

"Enough! Both of you! Axel, do you like Hubert Humphrey?" Bon-bon glared at Axel.

"No! I don't think," Axel blinked.

"Good. Duke, what's your Humphrey fetish?"

"It's not a fetish," Duke snarled.

"Well, you've mentioned nothing but this Hubert character for the past five minutes. If that's not a fetish, what is it then?"

"It's not a fetish!"

"So we've established. But what is it? An obsession?"

"I am not obsessed with Hubert Horatio Humphrey! I have perfectly reasonable fear and loathing for the man. That it!"

"You sure?"

"Yes!"

"Because I'm of a different opinion."

"I'll bet you are-!"

"Just… hear me out. Axel, you can leave if you want. I don't think Mr. Duke will mind."

Axel backed away slowly until there was only Duke and the eerily nonchalant Bon-bon.

"Now, what's this about fear and loathing?"

**Sam and Mort- Afternoon**

**"They stopped," Sam frowned.**

"What stopped?" Mort asked.

"The tracks."

"What do we do now?"

"We can't turn back. He's gotta' be close."

"You're an optimist," Mort grumbled. They'd been following the strange trail for hours now and Mort was getting tired. Tired was BAD. Shooter came when he was tired. The waking up early didn't help one bit. If they didn't find Jeffrey soon, there was no telling what would happen. Sam looked alarmed.

"You hear that?"

"What?" Mort snapped.

"It sounds like voices."

"We're probably back at camp. We walked all over the island anyway."

"Bon-bon doesn't sound that feminine. This is definitely female."

Mort finally shut up and listened. There were voices, and they came from behind a stand of trees. One voice even sounded suspiciously like Jeffrey's. He glanced at Sam and quirked an eyebrow. Sam just grinned.

"Should we go get him?"

"Maybe we should wait? If whatever's in there with him is dangerous, I'd like to be able to run away without worrying about my legs turning to jelly on me. I'm kinda' tired," Mort admitted. Sam looked disappointed, but nodded. They sat down on their separate rocks and rested.

**Mort**

**"I hate being me."**

**Sam and Mort- Afternoon**

**Mort didn't take a nap,** he just sat. No harm in sitting. But thinking was another matter. His mind was a very annoyingly active place to be. He felt things bouncing around in there like jumping beans on crack and they were talking. They were talking and talking and the only thing Mort had done was sit down. Unless he'd been too preoccupied walking and searching to notice the activity before.

_You can't rest! Your only friend is possibly hurt on the other side of those trees!_

Friend? _That ain't no friend, Pilgrim! That's a killer who ain't above offin' ye fer his own despicable ends!_

_He cares for Mort more than anyone else!_

_That Bon-bon-_

_Don't you dare bring her into this!_

_She cares 'bout him more!_

Cared. _There's a difference!_

"Please shut up," Mort croaked.

_Quiet, you! We're havin' a meanin'ful discussion 'bout yer loyalties._

_He should choose his _own_ loyalties!_

_Ah AM him!_

"Mort? Mort, snap out of it. C'mon…" From the looks of things, Sam had been trying to get Mort's attention for awhile. Ever since Mort had passed out on the rock, in fact. He'd been unresponsive for a whole ten minutes and Sam was ready to throw caution to the wind and get Sands to help when Mort stirred.

"Mort?"

"Lemme up, I gotta' take care uh some business," Mort growled. He rolled onto his side and all but lurched to his feet. Sam backed off in fear as Mort lunged into the foliage. There was an animal howl and a sharp intake of breath.

"Mort, get out of here!"

"Ah ain't Mort 'n you need to be taught a lesson, pilgrim."

Sam finally gathered his courage and crashed after Shooter. Whatever had happened on the rock had clearly not been beneficial. Now Sands (Jeffrey?) was in twice as much trouble as before. Or so it seemed. In the middle of the clearing was a turtle. With that turtle was a man in boxers sporting a ponytail. He was crouched in preparation for a quick flight. Shooter was standing before them menacingly.

"Shooter, don't make me do something rash," Sands warned.

"Ah don't think yer in a position t'threaten me in yer undergarments," Shooter cackled. Sands vaulted over the turtle's shell to meet Shooter face to face.

"I know 17 different way to kill you with a rock, Shooter, I'd say I was pretty well off. What about you?"

Shooter took out the dreaded shovel from his back pocket. He had an evil grin on his face. Sands nodded, rolling his eyes and kicked Shooter's legs out from under him. As the southerner toppled, Sands stood on Shooter's chest to prevent further movement. He scooped up the shovel and used it to help keep his balance.

"What was that, John Wayne?"

Shooter grunted and Sands leaned more forcefully on the foot atop Shooter's chest. He gagged, trying to breathe, but the pressure kept building. His mouth gaped, fish-like in the hopes of gleaning precious oxygen.

"I didn't kill you last time because I wasn't allowed to. Why shouldn't I now?"

"Mort," Shooter spat. It was all he was capable of.

"If I can keep a murderous psychotic at bay like Mort seems to think, I'm sure there's a way for Mort to be rid of you. All it'll take is one more crack to the head. Whadduya say?"

"You don't," Shooter wheezed.

"Hm? I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"You don't… keep… psychotic… at bay!"

"Well, it certainly sucks to be me then. But right now, I wouldn't want to be you." Sands leaned even more heavily, "You're going to leave me alone because I can do some strange, horrible and non-fatal things to you. Can you dig it?"

Shooter snarled. Sands pressed harder until Shooter finally passed out from lack of air. SJ finally relaxed and sat beside the quiet body.

"What was-"

"Not the time, Babbette."

"You can't ignore me."

"I can and will."

"You owe me!"

"I'm sorry, but when you have someone come after you with a shovel, then I'll forgive any quirks you may have developed. Until then, this cabana boy schtick is off. What are you looking at, Keaton?" Sands noticed Sam in the brush, a look of horror on his face. "Haven't you seen a turtle with good taste before?"

"Good taste! You're a prick! A pretty prick, but a prick!"

"As you can see, we've got a marriage councilor appointment to get to," Sands shrugged. "I'd take Mr. Shooter here and get him back to camp before I beat the… crap out of him."

His sense and sarcasm were returning. He was thinking about his word choice again. He no longer had the overwhelming, spine-tingling urge for nicotine. He didn't have to kill Babbette or Shooter anymore. If his Angel didn't appreciate his self-restraint, he'd stick it out with the turtle. Sam still hadn't spoken.

"What?" Sands fought not to snap.

"Babbette?"

"What about her?"

"That's… the turtle?"

"I think you deserve a prize for that deduction."

"Turtles don't talk."

"This one never shuts up."

"I resent that, sailor!"

"No le importa, chica," Sands rolled his eyes. She did not need to be angry and if he just admitted it didn't matter—_nothing_ mattered—they'd all be a lot better off.

Sam bit his lip. "Did it just talk?"

"You didn't hear her," Sands answered blankly. Sam shook his head.

"Turtles don't talk."

"Babbette, what are you pulling?" Sands whirled to face the stoic reptile. Sam tried hard to listen for any kind of communication between man and turtle, but only heard the angry rants of a crazed lunatic. Joon, at least, had never gotten to the point of talking to forest pals.

"I know that look. You think I'm crazy," Sands murmured.

"Mort called you Jeffrey."

"Middle name."

"Alter ego."

"You think Babbette's an alternate personality? So having one schizophrenic on this island isn't enough for you people?"

"I never said that. I just know you've got some… issues… to work out. You and Mort both," Sam glanced at the unconscious writer. "Whether you do it together or not is up to you. I'm going back to camp to leave you to your belly dancing."

Before Sands could come up with a proper rebuke, Sam had disappeared. This left Mort on the ground and Babbette with an accusing look in her eye.

"You haven't told them about us?"

"Do you really think they'd believe me?"

"I believe you, sailor."

Sands snorted and stalked into the trees. Babbette let him go, understanding the turmoil he was going through. It had sent her last human friend to an institution for a very long time.

When Mort finally woke up, Jeffrey/Sands was parked on a log in full brooding mode. He was fully clothed.

"C'mon, we've gotta' get back to camp. Sam left without us and I'd really hate to miss out on that special rice Jack makes."

Mort didn't ask what that was about.

**Varua- Night**

**The two intrepid travelers arrived **at Varua's camp tired and sweaty, but okay. More or less. Their physical selves were fine, but their mental states were going haywire in their own separate cells of thought.

Sands found camp almost exactly as he'd left it, with the exception of the wakeful state of the Survivors. He felt compelled to go lie down and take a long nap, but that'd show weakness he definitely couldn't display. He compromised by simply making himself look worse than he really felt and sat quietly in front of the fire. Let them think he was traumatized. He'd show them later, when he wasn't so out of it.

Mort knew he'd lost it again. There were only so many times this could go on before one or the other of them was dead. He never once assumed Jeffrey wouldn't eventually get fed up and wind up killing Shooter. And Mort, incidentally. It would be ideal to talk to Jeffrey before it ever came to that. Maybe Mort could get some insight on having multiple personalities, but he didn't see that happening. Jeffrey would sooner suck on the lit end of a highway flare than admit something was wrong. Or maybe that was Sands. Mort could never keep them straight anymore. Sparing a glance for the vacant expression shared by his only comrade in arms, Mort sighed and continued brooding.

Bon-bon was rather proud of herself. She'd encouraged a major breakthrough in the quirky one. She'd learned things he himself hadn't known. It hadn't been the easiest of purgings, but it was successful. She'd be kidding herself if she thought it was the root of his problem; he still claimed to see bats. She did hope it was a step in the right direction. He was taking to the information better than most people she'd done this to previously.

Duke… was. He'd come down off his high to the lowest of lows. Or so it seemed at the time. Bon-bon had been ruthless in her prodding and struck psychiatric gold. Gold that had nothing to do with Duke's trademark fear or loathing. Apparently, Duke had a secret love of Hubert Humphrey.

"Aren't we balls of sunshine today," Spencer commented dryly.

"You would be too if people thought one of the numerous personalities you never knew you had was a turtle who had a thing for you," Sands answered sweetly. Spencer quirked an eyebrow as Sam buried his head in his hands.

"I just realized the man I've been opposing all these years is nothing more than a manifestation of my lack of a good guy friend," Duke muttered. "You'll forgive my cheerful demeanor."

"We're all in rough shape, aye?" Jack asked quietly.

"Not me," Bon-bon shrugged. Cuba had thrown worse her way.

"But you're full of optimism," Axel pointed out.

"Now I wouldn't say that. I've just got the right attitude."

"What's that, mess with your enemies' minds as often as possible?" Duke grumbled.

"You know, there's a song that I believe in quite strongly and I think it's appropriate considering the circumstances. It's good advice if you have any intention of not moping for a minute."

" 'Paint It Black'?" Sands asked.

"It's a little song by Gloria Gaynor called 'I Will Survive'," Bon-bon glared at the agent.

"First I was afraid, I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side," Axel hummed.

"But I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong. I grew strong. I learned how to carry on," Bon-bon added.

"And so you're back from outer space. I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face!" they belted.

"I swear they do this just to annoy me," Spencer sighed. This only got Sands singing in an acceptable baritone into Spencer's ear, at which point the alien slunk back to the shelter. Mort blushed at the show and was finally poked into song by Jack. The pirate sang loudest of all when he knew the words and even when he didn't. It took several stanzas and choruses before Duke gave into his inner disco diva—probably thinking it was what Hubert Humphrey would do—and wailed on a pair of bongos he pulled out of Mort's pocket. Even Sam caught the beat.

"Oh no, not I! I will survive! As long as I know how to love, I know I will stay alive!"

**Spencer**

**"If it was possible to **be any more off key, I'm sure my eardrums would explode. As it is, I'm thinking that maybe something drastic will have to be done. I need immunity. Then I'll pick them off one by one, get into the final two and having taken someone like Bon-bon with me… I'll cream them. Not that I'll ever get Sands' vote but with all that alienation going on, Bon-bon's my best bet. I'm rested up, I'm feeling great. That prize is _mine_."

**Varua- Night**

**"I _love_ that song!" Jack **cried happily.

"See? What'd I tell you?" Bon-bon smirked.

"Well, mate, I like jes about any song so long's it's good t'sing to," Jack admitted.

"A regular… Barbra Streisand," Duke snorted.

" 'ow come we never sang back at our camp?" Jack accused.

"Because… I don't sing," Duke replied.

"And we didn't see you whistling a tune, either," Sands pointed out.

"I was bemoanin' me rum! I was too busy t'sing!" Jack stopped short, a haunted look in his eyes. He hadn't had rum in ages. Rum. Where was the rum? Why was it gone? Why didn't he have any?

Duke snapped open his case to check the contents. Things were in check, despite the gaping hole where the rum bottle used to sit. The levels in all bottles, baggies and containers were lower, but not so much that he had to start rationing. He took another look at the shaking pirate. He clearly needed something.

"I don't have rum but… uh… I have other things. Help snap you out of your funk."

"Need rum!"

"You sure? I've got uppers, downers, screamers and laughers."

"Rum!"

Duke furrowed his brow, remembering another time and place. _Medicine! MEDICINE!_ Medicine? Oh yeah, medicine! Duke reached out and dipped his hand into Mort's back pocket. Furry, leathery, papery things assaulted his fingers, but nothing glass yet. When he finally found the bottle of rum, Jack had curled into a shivering ball.

"Hey!" Mort yelped. Duke, simply rolled the bottle at Jack, hoping for the best.

"Rum!" Duke announced.

"Rum?" Jack whimpered.

"Rum!"

"Rum."

"RUM!"

"Rum!" Jack glared at Duke. The journalist motioned at the bottle lying in the sand. The pirate glanced down and gaped in shock. "RUM!"

"Rum!" Duke grinned a big, fine smile. Jack wasted no time in uncapping the bottle and doing what pirates do best. Besides pillaging, plundering, rifling and looting, of course.

"So… if I start shaking and twitching, does that mean I can get a tequila and lime?" Sands asked.

"That was an emergency," Duke rolled his eyes.

"Well, I think this is an emergency too."

"You're not shaking and twitching."

"Do you want me to?"

"Jeffrey, can I ask you something?" Mort winced.

"What's up, sugarbutt?"

"Somewhere… else?"

Sands had a hunch he knew what was coming. He wasn't sure he really wanted to discuss it in front of a tribe of people who had the power to vote him off if they thought he was unsteady enough. And if it was Shooter—he doubted it, but it was better to cover all bases—he knew how to take care of that situation.

"Lead the way, Mort."

The campfire crew dwindled, leaving 5 Survivors in a loose circle.

"Maybe we should go to bed?" Sam asked quietly. He rather wanted to see that Mort and Sands had a productive talk. Nothing killed a conversation faster than eavesdroppers.

"But… the rum!"

"Jack, Mort's pocket is bottomless. There'll be more tomorrow," Axel pointed out. Jack held the near empty bottle close to his chest and pouted.

"Cuddle with the bottle later, tomorrow's challenge day, remember?" Bon-bon pointed out.

There was an assortment of grumblings. Were the 39 days up yet?

**Varua- Morning**

**Axel had been having the **most wonderful dream about flying and fish and Roo and all the things he'd been missing at home. Like a bed. He no longer counted how many times he'd been startled awake by rolling on top of a particularly sharp rock. He was sure that one morning, he'd just pop like a balloon. That would be something.

He cracked open his eyelids and peered into the predawn light. The fire had burned low during the night and all the Survivors were asleep, save two conspicuously absent shapes. What made it even stranger was the fact that one of the missing persons wasn't an early riser. Axel had two choices to consider: the two hadn't returned last night or one of them had managed to kill the other and has slunk away before someone found out. Axel sincerely hoped it was the former. He maneuvered carefully out of his niche between Bon-bon and Sam and backed out of the shelter. He felt the boot on his back before he saw the person it belonged to.

"Move another inch, I might have to do something neither of us will like. What are you doing?"

"Wondering where you and Mort wandered off to."

"We're fine."

"Where's Mort?" Axel ground out.

"I'm okay, Axel," Mort spoke up.

"What's with all the sneaking around?" the still sleepy Axel yawned. Sands removed his foot and had retreated, allowing Axel to stand.

"It's the secret meeting of 'Unbalanced Anonymous'," Sands snorted. "I'm Sands, Jeffery and Babbette, he's Mort and Shooter. Nevermind that Shooter hates my guts, the rest of us get along fine."

"You ever thnk you might be taking this too far?"

"I don't want what happened four days ago to happen again. I needed help and since Jeff-… Sands seemed to have a better handle on it than me, I asked him his opinion on things." Mort's voice conveyed the blush flooding his cheeks in the gray morning.

"Dr. Sands. That's another personality," Sands nodded seriously.

"Are you ever not sarcastic?" Axel asked.

"All the time, Fish Head."

"It's Fish Boy."

"You actually have a name Fish Boy?" Sands looked bewildered.

"Spencer calls me that," Axel cocked his head.

"Well, that explains a lot," the agent rolled his eyes.

"As it is, things are better off," Mort interrupted with a glare for SJ. "Even if I'm too tired to see straight. What the-!" Mort spun around and backpedaled into Axel. Jack was on his knees with a bottle of rum clutched in his dirty fingers. He had the grace to look sheepish.

"I was thirsty, mate," he grinned.

"Jack, you can't just use my pocket willy nilly," Mort frowned. "Its powers should really only be used for good."

"Why's that, mate? S'there a malevolent god tha' gives yer pocket its powers?" Jack smirked.

"It's not a… god… per se. But it is supernatural and I wouldn't goof with it if I were you," Mort eyed the pirate. It wasn't clear whether Rainey had succeeded in intimidating Jack, but a definite tense moment had passed before Duke wobbled into the middle of the fray. He looked concerned.

"I had a dream. It had-…"

"Hubert Humphrey." they chorused.

"-and he had this horrible outfit on. The bats… they seemed to… accept him. The were swooping at him and chirping and chattering. And he had… chocolate oranges. It was…"

"Duke," Axel winced.

"-and he was giving me the 'Come hither' finger and I wanted to-…"

Sands covered Duke's mouth with a free hand.

"You're using up all my air, sugarbutt. Calm down. Forget it."

"Bbtuhatz!"

"Nuh uh. If you're shouting, you're not calm. Take a capsule, any capsule. I don't want another repeat of last detox session, savvy?"

"Ubuhumpy!"

"Now you're going to listen to me because I'm the law on this island. Donnie got bumped, I've got rank. Now if you think my head's too big for this itty bitty island, I beg you, please bring it up at tribal council, but for now, you're giving me a headache and I don't want that. You have no Hubert Humphrey fetish. You've got issues, yes, but it's a very… healthy focus."

"Ayedolum?"

"No. You don't. It's not Dr. Bon-bon, is it?"

"Nuh."

"That's right, it's Dr. Sands."

"Uh?"

"You weren't there for that, huh? Trust me. I'm going to let you go now, and you're not going to mention that mean old Hubert anymore, right?"

"Aight."

"Good. You'll be just fine." Sands removed his hand and clapped Duke on the shoulder instead. "You're doing fine."

Duke nodded dumbly. It looked like one of those days where one couldn't help but witness a landmark moment in Survivor history.

"I think I'm going to go check the mail. For my health," Axel said quickly and ducked into the brush.

"Aye! 'N I'll jes be startin' breakfast," Jack smiled and ambled towards the campfire. Sands shrugged and came off the offensive. He'd done enough damage for one morning.

**Varua- Midmorning**

**Axel had dawdled on his **way to the moai mailbox. The camp was just getting too weird for him. But he couldn't spend all day alone with the clue. He'd gotten out of it all he could and there was little left he could do by way of analysis.

_Run, run, as fast as_

_You can, you can't catch me, I'm_

_The Reward Challenge_

It wasn't a rhyme and as a haiku, it was rather lame. Acel could only guess some kind of race. Or possibly a gingerbread man making contest. It didn't seem appropriate to Survivor though, so he was back to a race.

The sun slowly topped the lowest branches, leaving Axel in the cool shade. He would have to go back soon, but he'd gotten up early to be faced with creepy and unsettling island mates. He wanted a nap. The breeze ruffled his hair seemingly in agreement.

"They won't miss me," Axel sighed and flopped onto the ground. He pillowed his head in his hands and drifted while fish swam overhead.

**Varua- Afternoon**

**"Didn't he say he was **going to get the clue?"

"I hic! 'eard 'im!"

"Quite a few of us did."

"Think he ran away?"

"Why would he run away?"

"Well, do you think that maybe a pirate, a pair of psychos, a cross-dresser, a showman, a druggy and an alien would be the last thing you wanted to meet on a deserted island? Or not, it could just be me."

"Nice, Sands. Real nice."

"I don't sugarcoat things."

"Do you have a sugar problem?"

"Shut it, Bon-bon."

"Maybe he got taken by the polar bear."

"Duke?"

"Or was that Lost?" The bats don't remember either."

"Maybe we should search for him?"

"Didn't we try that already for a certain Sheldon Sands?"

"Thanks for volunteering, oh Spence, oh buddy, or pal-o-mine. I'd try the moai if I were you."

"I didn't-!"

"Thanks Spence!"

"You're a real nice guy."

"I don't want-!"

"Don't let the bugs eat you on the way out."

**Moai- Afternoon**

**Spencer hadn't stopped snarling and **swearing since he was sent on the search. Not that he'd been on it long, only about five minutes had passed. It still served to fuel his hate-based rage for the pushy, bull-headed government lackey. General Brasco had been bad in the beginning. Then he lightened up and things were good between them. But Sheldon… he was just _mean_.

"Fish Boy, get out here and let me stop looking for you," Spencer yelled. He hadn't gone to the moai at first, just to spite Sheldon. Now that he'd skirted the perimeter of the camp, he decided to curse the man later and just find Axel now. There was a groan from under a stand of trees. "Fish Boy!"

"Spence?"

"what, may I ask, are you doing out here?"

"Huh? I took a nap and-…"

"Forgot to wake up?"

"Axel sat up, blinking back the crust of sleep around his eyes. He sought out Spencer's annoyed expression and shook his head slowly. "I could have sworn the sun just got into the trees."

"Well don't let it dapple you upside the head now. Come on, we're late for the challenge. What is it anyway?"

"Beats me."

**Varua- Late afternoon**

**"Little late, are we?" The **host addressed this to the last Survivor to enter the clearing. The host looked miffed.

"Blame Fish Boy. It's been a rough ride and he wanted a break." Spencer shrugged. Axel blushed bright red and began mumbling apologies again. Spencer laid a hand on the stuttering Johnny's shoulder and nodded knowingly.

"I see… well, whoever's to blame, it doesn't much matter right now. We've got to make up for lost time, you see. We've got a special reward today," he slapped the side of a hut. "I imagine you guys must be missing your homes a bit."

It was Mort's turn to blush, having seen his Angel most of all. Sands snorted, knowing he wasn't going to be seeing much of his Angel until the gig was over. At least it was easier to focus on the game that way.

"We got videos from home. The winner will get to see his."

If that didn't get their attention, there wasn't much that would. Sam felt his breaths come lighter and lighter. Rollie! A message from Rollie!

"The winner will also pick a companion to share lunch and a flick. Namely, your messages. It'll be dinner and a show, drinks, sandwiches and the like. As you can tell, it was supposed to be lunch.," the host rolled his eyes. The wind blew to a stop in accordance with the general heart rate of the gathered Survivors. _Food._

"And all you have to do is follow the arrows in an agility course which will end… in an unexpected place. The Survivor with the fastest time is the winner. Any questions?"

"Arrows?" Duke asked.

"Arrows."

"Doesn't sound safe."

"It is. We've tested it."

"Are you sure?"

"Do you want to test it first?"

"Of course not!" Duke snapped.

"I'll go first," Axel volunteered.

"You're a brave man, Axel. The starting line is over there and I will meet you at the end with your time. Good luck."

**Varua- Midafternoon**

**"Ready? Go!"**

Sam followed the bright cerulean arrows. It wasn't quite that simple, but that is what he did. Sam ran through thick plant growths, dodged trees, climbed the unclimbable. The path zigged and zagged and all the while, Sam knew he was getting closer to the ocean. He'd watched first Axel, then Jack and Spencer run the track and watched them falter at the last obstacle. The watch was stopped as soon as the Survivor jumped off a cliff and hit the water below. A speedboat would come and pick up the sopping contestant and ship him back to shore with his time. The best was Spencer's, at 3:14. But every single one of them had paused before the jump. That wait on top of their time errors was what kept them above two minutes. Sam wasn't counting on stopping. He catapulted off the cliff, limbs flailing in the dying light.

Sam struggled back to the surface, more tired than he could ever remember. When his head broke the surface, he heard shouting and a drone off to his left.

"Two minutes, thirty seconds _exactly_! Sam is now in the lead!"

He nearly gasped in relief, but he had to settle for sucking in any air he could into his aching lungs. He was dragged aboard the boat and that was all he remembered.

**Bon-bon**

**"Sam moved fast but… I'm **going to win. I'm lonely and I want food. Sam is my only competition. Nobody else beat his time, but I will."

**Varua- Early Evening**

**"Bon-bon, on your mark, get** set, go!"

Bon-bon took off, barely taking the time to slow down before hitting certain obstacles. Thorns and branches ripped at her but she couldn't slow down. She _needed_ to win this reward at all costs. She took everything at a sprint, skidding before particularly nasty pitfalls and attacking them with as much vigor as she could muster. It wasn't long before she saw the cliff. She'd have to take it like she took the rest of the course: at high speeds without time for thought. But she was afraid of heights…

Her feet were digging in against her will. She was stopping. She couldn't do it. She was giving up. She had to. She couldn't go over the cliff.

She could.

She all but tripped over the edge, tumbling into the sea. She came back up stuttering and spitting trying to orient herself. And there was the boat, and the host looking disappointed.

"I'm sorry Bon-bon, not quite good enough to catch Sam. Two minutes and thirty-two seconds. Sam wins the award."

**Varua- Night**

**Bon-bon was shipped to the **island shivering under a towel, her hair mussed up and makeup smudged. She was utterly miserable. It didn't stop her from stepping off the boat with dignity and grace to rejoin the rest of the tribe.

"The winner of the reward challenge is Sam. Congratulations."

Sam felt his heart melt.

"Who will you take with you to your private cinema?"

This was the part he'd been dreading. He didn't want to pick someone. He'd have to discriminate and there'd be alliances and all sorts of issues. He didn't want to deal with it. Nobody met his gaze, except one stubborn Survivor.

"I pick Bon-bon," Sam smiled slightly.

"All right. Varua, you may return to camp, Bon-bon and Sam will catch up with you later tonight. Again, congratulations.

**Mort**

**"Those guys were… wow. I **take hikes but… wow. Maybe I should work out or invest in pep pills. That was impressive. I don't begrudge them one bit."

**Sam and Bon-bon**

**"Sam! Hello there love. I **miss you so much! Poker night just isn't the same without you. On the bright side, the other night I finally won Thomas's soap on a rope! You really can't tell it's been slightly used...anyways! I can tell how hard you're working. I'm so proud of you for staying out of trouble. I hope you're doing alright since the lizard incident! That must have been an experience. That Duke is a curious one...

"Not many updates from home. Benny and Ruthie are good, the Group Home is holding up okay...we all miss you though. I can't tell you how lonely it is doing the roll dance all alone though. Ruthie's afraid to try ever since you hit that waitress. Oh well, I don't want to complain. Mike still can't find those hubcaps...always amusing to watch! And don't worry, I'm keeping his tree safe for you.

"Well, I don't want to hold you up much longer. I can't wait til you come home, but DON'T GIVE UP! You are so wonderful, you've almost made it! Have fun, sweetie. Oh, and before I go... Sam... I-I love you."

The VCR crackled and white noise filled the hut. Sam said nothing, unable to speak. He loved his Angel so much. Bon-bon respectfully waited for Sam to pull himself together before talking.

"That's a sweet Angel you have there."

"That she is," Sam whispered.

"You're lucky."

Sam blushed, "You'll get one someday."

"I'll have to share her with Victor," Bon-bon tossed her head. "Do you think they'd let me have Gabe?"

"I doubt it," Sam grinned.

"Me neither," Bon-bon sighed.

"Hey, you got a video too, you know. Want to watch it?"

"I guess," she shrugged. Sam bit his lip, but popped the movie in anyway. The TV glowed to life.

"You said it at tribal council, girl. Improvisation. You are the queen of improv. You've had to fight the hardest of any Johnny on that island to not get voted off and you're doing GREAT! You're showing self-control, kindness and resilience…just keep being yourself and you'll be fine. You'll do good to make friends with Sam—he is loyal to the core. Take care of him and he'll take care of you.

"Hang in there, Bon-bon! You're doing me and all the unangeleds proud! We're your hardcore fanclub…especially Lt. Victor. He said to tell you that you can smuggle his contraband anytime. Boy, feel the love! Truly, BB, you are the most amazing shemale I know. You go, girl! You can do it!

"Your angel-til-you-get-one, DB."

"Think she meant what she said about making friends with me?" Sam laughed.

"I have no reason to believe she didn't. That was a little scary, wasn't it?" Bon-bon giggled.

"Can she see the future?" he asked.

"Nobody knows. She's mysterious like that," she answered cryptically.

"I'm sure she appreciates the ambiguity. What do you think? Should we go back?"

"Probably. It's late and the longer we wait, the more we'll be despised."

"We should bring them leftovers, huh?"

"Are we allowed?"

"Forget the rules. I'd hope they'd do the same if they won."

**Varua- Morning**

**Sands woke up with no **ill effects. No turtles, not Cuisinarts… it was grand. He was having a stretch by the fire when he noticed a baggie on a stump. His first thought was that it had to be left over from Duke's late night binge. Closer inspection yielded food. Not just food, but good food. Chips, sandwiches. Remnants of what was Sam and Bon-bon's dinner.

"Well, imagine that," Sands murmured. "We wouldn't have had to jump off the cliff after all."

"Still mad at me?" a voice murmured.

"I don't get mad."

"Sorry," Sam whispered.

"Don't be. There's no reason to be."

"Are you always this callous?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Sands sighed, "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. I just find it hard to believe someone can just be sarcastic all the time."

"It's how I play this game. Keeps me… sane," Sands smirked.

"So it's been working," Sam glanced at the agent out of the corner of his eye.

"What's been working?" Axel yawned.

"Nothing, nothing," Sands waved it off.

"Hey, is that food?" Axel pointed at the bag.

"It is," Sam nodded.

"Food we can eat?"

"What else would it be?"

"Oh thank heaven!" Axel sat beside the stump and took out a sandwich. "Famished!"

At Axel's announcement, more Survivors wandered out having heard the magic words. It's amazing what a person would do after living off of crappy rice for almost a month. Sands watched as the others dug in, not quite ready to take something himself. He'd regret it, he knew he would.

"I'm going to go see if the mail's in. See that we get it on time and all," Sands announced before taking the hike into the woods alone. Nobody stopped him.

**Varua- Midmorning**

**"I hope everybody's got good **hand strength. It sounds like a long challenge," Sands said, having returned once the feeding frenzy died down. Sands still hadn't eaten, but he didn't feel any worse for it. "Some kind of endurance test or something.

_You must hang on_

_Stay up for long_

_For if you fall_

_It might be you that's called_

"How lame," Mort rolled his eyes.

"Incredibly," Spencer agreed.

"It doesn't change the fact that we might as well head out. I don't think we're in his good graces," Bon-bon shrugged.

"Graces? Bah, who need 'im, anyway?" Jack snorted.

"He runs the… thing," Duke motioned. Jack sighed.

"We should go. It's about time anyway," Sam pointed at the sun's position. The remaining eight Survivors moved out.

**Varua- Afternoon**

**"Glad to see you made **it today!"

"Are you going to harass us for the rest of the game?" Axel asked.

"I might. Any trouble last night."

"Nobody killed anyone," Mort supplied.

"Good, good. Ready for the challenge?"

"As if we have a choice," Spencer answered.

"Right. This one is a simple one. You're going to hang in the middle of the ocean. No harnesses, no anything. Just going to hang from a pole by your hands. Last man still up wins immunity. Easy?"

"As Nestle Toll House." Sands' mouth twisted into a small grin.

"Alright you guys, let's go."

Twenty minutes later, all eight Survivors were dangling as the host had said. Some were already showing the strain.

"I broke a nail!"

"Bon-bon-…"

"This is serious!"

"Uh huh."

"Do you want to jump, Bon-bon?" the host called.

"No," she sulked.

Minutes passed. Mort felt his eyelids growing heavier. He could understand that it was the boredom and the lack of engagement for his brain. It didn't make it any more enjoyable to suddenly snap to alertness and feel his fingers slip off the pole. He yelled as he plummeted into the drink.

"Mort's down! Seven left. Who will win?"

Someone began humming the Jeopardy! theme song. Several began swinging slightly to ease some feeling back into stiffening fingers. Jack decided there were better things in this world to do and followed Mort into the water. He might be sympathetic and offer a bottle of rum.

Duke suddenly gave a shriek and dropped like a stone. The only clear words anybody could make out were "Manta Ray." Sam dropped. Axel dropped. Sands and Spencer glared at each other.

"I dare you to let go," Spencer sneered.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're tired."

"I'm not weighed down by a bellyful of pastrami and cheese."

"That only helps. Carbs, my friend!"

"And what do you think rice is? Your body can't process that! Your digestive system is going haywire right now! Why, I even bet you're going to experience Montezuma's Revenge."

"Monte-what?"

"The Hershey's squirts! The runs! Or you could go the other way and get all bound up, but you're really not going to have fun until your back to eating rice again."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I'm human," Sands smirked.

"Hardy har," Spencer growled.

An hour passed. The Survivors who got out were becoming restless and the Survivors still up were getting tired. Sands needed to move his frozen muscles and get rid of his shirt. The sun was beating on the black cotton mercilessly. He let one hand go and slid it out of the sleeve and out under the hem of the shirt before wrapping his hand around the pole again. He repeated the process with the other arm until he was finally able to tug the shirt over his head and let it float down to the ocean below. The wind blew up, regulating his temperature to a manageable degree. It was somewhat distracting, to be honest, and there was a little squeal as Bon-bon went sailing into the sea. Sands stifled his laughter and instead set to swinging back and forth

"Hot yet, Spence?" Sands called, swinging gently.

"On fire."

"You should take your shirt off. The breeze is to die for."

"You just want me to fall."

"Yes. But it's better than getting heat stroke, don't you think?"

"You're horrible."

"Thanks."

Spencer let one hand go to do the shirt trick. Just to show Sheldon up. To prove he was just as good. He didn't count on the weakness of his fingers. His hand slipped before he had a chance to grab hold again. He splashed into the ocean.

"Congratulations Sands! You win immunity!"

"Good thing." He let himself released his tense fingers and fall into the waters below.

A/N: Congrats to Rollie and DB for winning the contest! And thanks to SS and Lynx for helping judge. That helped a lot. hugs to all


	11. Revenge is Like Good Gazpacho

**Title: **Johnny Survivor

**Rating: **PG, for petty revenge and so forth

**Summary: **When April Fool's Day comes to Easter Island, there's only one thing to do. Run away. Really, really quickly.

**Disclaimer: **I own…um…the twisted idea, maybe? Not much else, if that.

**Author's Notes: **As the summary says, part of this was supposed to be up for April Fool's Day. Then…I got involved in another _minor_, though angelic, prank, found myself impossibly behind on a ten page essay and lost any chance of getting a tidbit up anytime soon. That's my bad excuse, so what's yours? Thanks to the Fearless Fiend, Dangerbabe and the Symbolic Sacrifice.

**Post Script: **This chapter comes in two versions: the clean version as coming right up and the not so nice version you'll have to review to receive. We're not talking NC-17, don't worry about that. I'd classify it as borderline R, PG-13 violence, like Secret Window. In other words, rough, but nothing you don't see on the news these days. I just didn't feel up to changing the rating or receiving too many flames about my horrible treatment of the Survivors, savvy? If you'd like to read, send word via review with your email addy or PM if you know where to find me. Otherwise, enjoy the edited version.

**Revenge Is Like Good Gazpacho**

**Varua- Tribal Council**

**It was time to partake **in every Survivor's favorite aspect of the game: Tribal Council. A half-hour dedicated to removing a particularly weak or trying person from the island. Of course, it was becoming more and more of a blessing to be voted off. A silent show of good will, "You've had enough, we respect you, and gosh darn it, you are a lucky smeep." Nobody said that last bit out loud, though.

The fires were burning bright, but the breeze blowing through the clearing effectively cancelled out any chance of warmth. Some Survivors were acting nonchalant, while others just looked sick. When everyone was seated, the host entered, looking solemn as always.

"We'll bring out the jury now." The host paused as Donnie took a seat on the extra, bare bench that had been set aside. He looked healthy and much better off than the scraggly Survivors did. "The jury's role is simple. You don't talk to them, they won't talk to you, but they will be the ones deciding who the ultimate Survivor is. Their decision is based off their impressions of you while they were a part of your tribe, what they hear in this and future councils, and your last statement when it gets down to the Final Two. But we're not quite there yet," the host grinned.

"So. Welcome back, folks, how have we been faring since last time? Any mishaps?" he asked politely.

"You wish. Good publicity and all that rot," Spencer rolled his eyes. The host snorted.

"It only seems like I wish, but I really don't. If anything happened to you people, can you imagine the trouble I'd be in?"

"A host of pistols, flyswatters, water guns, cutlasses and any other manner of whips, maces and medieval torture devices no doubt," Sands smiled. He kind of liked that image himself. Maybe even join in with a couple of pistols, assuming he wasn't the incapacitated Survivor.

"I'm glad you're confident in my abilities," the host said wryly.

"Always," Sands nodded.

"I heard you people like to sing. There any particular reason or does it just pass time?"

"Passes time," Mort said quickly.

"It's invigorating!" Bon-bon grinned. "There is no evil that singing cannot cure."

"Except maybe a headache," Spencer remarked sourly.

"It was fun," Sam laughed.

"Do it often?" the host asked.

"No," Sam blushed.

"How did the videos work for you, Sam?"

"It made my day. It just… it made me happy," Sam smiled.

"Bon-bon?"

"Worth it. It reminds you why you're on a stupid island with a bunch of smelly men who can't sing."

"Hey!" they recoiled.

"It's true," Bon-bon smirked.

"Easy, easy, let's be civil," the host laughed. "Think you can go the last bunch of days, Duke?"

"It's not over yet?" Duke looked indignant.

"Not quite."

"Oh you evil people!" Duke was getting so adept at covering his swears, they barely heard the stop between "evil" and "people."

"Sorry to disappoint you Duke, however, it is the moment of truth. Sands, will you be relinquishing your immunity necklace?"

"Not a chance. It looks fetching on me."

"Not the word I'd choose, but understood," the host sniggered. "Whoever gets voted out tonight will be out of the tribe, but he'll be back in the following councils as a part of the jury. Sands, do the honors."

Sands said nothing, merely got up and took the long walk to the booth of doom.

**Sands**

"**Carp. I don't think I've **ever gone into one of these things without a vote in mind. Parts of me say Sam, some Mort, some Spencer. I…I don't know. Don't consider this an informed decision. You're the first name that popped into my head. Sorry."

**Spencer**

"**You lucked out this time,** Sheldon. Big time."

**Mort**

"**You don't deserve this. Get **out while you still can. Before the penguins steal your sanity too."

**Duke**

"**The bats said you should **go because you aren't chock full of true grit. I think it's just because you're too nice. Either way, it's not a personal grudge. You'd know if it was."

**Varua- Tribal Council**

**Jack was the last man **to stagger back from the voting table. He slid in beside Axel who looked depressed. The host nodded quietly.

"I'll go tally the votes."

Donnie smiled slightly at the ceremony. It would never change, no matter who was left. The host meandered back, carrying the pot.

"Once the votes are read, the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to read Tribal Council immediately. The first vote. Axel."

Axel gulped.

"Second vote. Mort."

Mort sighed.

"Third. Sam."

Sam remained carefully expressionless. It was three votes later, when the count had Sam at four, that he began to look crestfallen. The host turned the next vote over. It too, had Sam's name.

"Five votes are majority, there is no reason to read the rest of the votes. Sam, bring me your torch."

Sam still managed to look dignified as he brought the torch to the host. He'd done his best, and nobody could tell him otherwise.

"Sam, the tribe has spoken."

The host snuffed his flame, and Sam turned away.

**Sam**

"**I would have liked to **go all the way for Rollie, but I did well. I made it into the jury. I can live with that. Whoever wins will have been a better player than I was and I congratulate him…or her…for it."

**Sands**

"**I hope I'm not the **only one having trouble voting. Makes me feel impotent somehow. I'm not ruling out Jeffrey and Babbette, but I'm really starting to hate the buggers. If they even exist."

**Spencer**

"**Sands better not get immunity **next time or I think I'm going to go insane. I'm a lost man if I can't vote for Sheldon.

**Varua- Night**

**The tribe was getting tired** of the game. Sam had gotten voted out-it had been mostly a mercy vote-and Varua had lost one of their most stable players. But it would be positively cruel to condemn Sam to another three days of madness, so they let him go and hoped for the best.

They returned to camp tired and irritable, and unanimously decided to turn in early. They needed a break; tomorrow looked as though it'd be a pleasant day for some R and R. Sands was the last Survivor to creep into the shelter. Sam's barb about his instability still rankled and Sands was having a hard time shaking it. His vote had reflected his scattered mind of late, but in the end, Sam was gone and it didn't matter anymore. Sands never liked to dwell on the past too much; it made him splenetic and crazed. He tore his gaze from the hypnotic fire and trudged back up to the shelter.

On any given night, the Survivors would whisper quietly before going to sleep, but the low voices were conspicuously absent that evening. Sands chalked it up to depression and slowly made his way over to his corner. He had almost drifted off when he heard a sinister hiss. Drooping eyelids snapped open, even as tired eyes began scanning the ground around him. The next hiss came from his left, from the direction of the peaceful Survivors. Sands slowly drew himself up to a sitting position, trying to strain his eyes against the darkness.

_Snakes…why'd it have to be snakes…_ he thought. He proceeded forward slowly, hoping to alert someone to the danger, when he felt something drop onto his shoulders and wrap around his neck. Something scaly. He cried out in fear, his fingers clawing at his throat. He heard a very familiar voice.

"HaHA! I got you, I got you, I got you! Take THAT, you stupid human!"

A heavy-duty flashlight shined in Sands' eyes and bathed him in light. Sands could just make out a shadow doubled up in laughter. He peeled the fake rubber snake away from his neck and let it fall to the floor of the shelter.

"You should have seen the look on your face! Oh it was _priceless_!"

Sands took a minute to compose himself. He refused to let anyone see him losing control. It was unfortunate that he was so close to the edge. Nevertheless, he managed to breathe deep and shove his immediate troubles aside. Now, he had to humiliate the hell out of a certain alien.

"I bet you think you're a big man now, don't you, Spencer? Stealing things out of people's pockets that aren't yours, tricking unstable people into thinking they're about to be mauled by snakes. Well, you just keep on being proud of yourself, Mr. Armacost, because if you're still resorting to lame tricks, you're no better than a smeeping toad. And in Mexico, toads by the side of the highway get squished," Sands replied, his voice dangerously soft. Spencer even stopped laughing to stare at the eerily calm agent. There was a quick succession of Suvivors rolling over to turn away from the possible battle with their eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't think the rest of you can get away with it either. You let him do this, you're as bad as him." Sands addressed the sleeping assembly, "And Sam isn't here to talk sense into me."

"Jeffrey? Sands? We didn't let him, he just went and did it," Mort murmured.

"You didn't stop him, did you?"

"I was asleep."

"And the rest of you?"

"Sleepin'." Jack hadn't rolled back over.

"Asleep," Axel agreed. It didn't take long for everyone, save Spencer, to claim tiredness. Sands could have given Mort the benefit of the doubt, but not everyone. As it were, it was far too late for any sort of detective work. He wasn't a fan of arguing points, anyway. He spared a glance for Spencer who still hadn't moved and gripped him roughly by the shoulder.

"Get out of my personal bubble and go to bed. I'll deal with you tomorrow," Sands sighed. He shoved Spencer forward and sunk to the ground. Despite his tough exterior, Sands was tired and wanted to sleep. It also just so happened to be the time that all his best ideas and inspirations came to him. While he didn't like to argue, he did enjoy getting revenge. He curled up in his corner and went out like a light.

**Varua- Morning**

**Sands started awake. He had **it. The perfect idea. He made breakfast a lot. And the sandwiches had wreaked havoc on digestive systems everywhere as Sands had predicted they would. Indigestion was fool proof. This had promise, though, even if it wasn't original. It was better than nothing, that was a given.

Sands sat quietly, putting the final touches on his quick plan. It was by no means perfect, but it would get his point across for sure. And he was still the only one awake, which allowed for prep time. Perfect.

**Varua- Midmorning**

**Axel was the second to** wake up. The dreary routine of getting up and eating breakfast had been ingrained into his head and now he was acting upon it. At least, he was until he saw the bizarre, red hue of the rice in the pan. He glanced at Sands, who was calmly ingesting the mutant food.

"Red tide?" Axel asked, pointing at the pan.

"Sweet and sour sauce," Sands mumbled around a mouthful.

"Excuse me?"

"Old Chinese recipe. You eat now," Sands waved at the rice. Axel shook his head. Sweet and sour sauce was pink, wasn't it? The rice was definitely red.

"Since when is sweet and sour sauce red?"

"I had to improvise. Now are you going to eat it or are you not? Because if you're not, I'll take your share. I haven't eaten in a day," Sands grunted. Axel snorted and proceeded to spoon himself a helping.

"You're not seriously going to eat that, are you? It's radioactive." Duke had stumbled out of the shelter and gotten a glance at the rice. Axel shrugged.

"Food," he elucidated. Duke sighed and tucked in as well. Before Axel could take a bit however, Bon-bon flounced up with similar questions while Spencer, eyes at half mast, simply grabbed his portion.

"I've seen worse, mate," Jack yawned at Bon-bon's shoulder. " 'S not purple or black, 'n therefore, 's prolly safe."

"And it's not as if you're not getting at least a little tired of the same paste day after day, are you?" Sands quirked an eyebrow. Bon-bon huffed.

"Sands…? Oh smeep! Sands!" Duke swore. He was on his feet performing the most extraordinary stunts. His jaw was hanging open as a hand flapped to usher fresh air in. He looked to be in physical discomfort.

"_Sands_!" Axel moaned. His eyes were watering. Spencer glances at his friend with concern in his still-crossed eyes. Unfortunately, it wasn't before he too had swallowed a great mouthful of the rice himself.

"Fish Boy?" Oh…oh…ohohohohoh!" Spencer howled. "It _burns_!"

"You don't like my cooking?" Sands frowned mildly around another bite of food. Bon-bon glared at the agent.

"And what do you think you're doing?" she hissed.

"Trying a bit of variety," he shrugged.

"Sweet and sour sauce? I definitely meant to say habañero seasoning. The annatto seeds add color. Overall, not bad. Could have used a splash of tequila, though." He shrugged, "Or maybe not. I wouldn't want one of you to have to go and balance me out or anything."

"Can't imagine why we would want to," she growled.

"Water!" Duke screamed. Sands winced.

"Lo siento, but I seem to have used the last of the clean water on breakfast."

"You _SWINE_!"

"Well, I liked it, even if you ungrateful sots didn't." Sands patted his stomach and grabbed another bowl. It was partially out of spite, but also so they could see that he was eating the same thing they were. The flavor had been a mite powerful for Sands' weakened palate, but he was also made of sterner stuff than the other Survivors to begin with. They'd be getting indigestion at best; he might get gas. If Mexican cuisine had but one fault, that was it.

"Back pocket. Bottled water," someone wheezed. Bon-bon retreated to the shelter as the rest of the party glared weakly at Sands.

"You look as though someone poisoned you," he observed.

"Well, Shelock-"

"If you're going to complain about my breakfast, you'd better start waking up earlier and make it yourself. Or maybe you could just stop whining about the fact that it isn't made when you wake up. Either way, I'll be a happy camper."

"If this is about last night," Spencer gasped.

"Good observation," Sands remarked dryly.

"I pranked you! What's the harm in that?" Spencer snarled. Sands checked his digital watch and found himself scowling.

"Well, luckily for you, you were fully within your rights, if a bit early. It's April Fool's Day. But," Sands smirked, "that means I was completely right in coming up with this retaliation too."

"April what?"

"Only the worst day of the year. Total strangers can have it out for you. You just have to hope you've got better reflexes than they do. Otherwise, you're going to wind up reaching for that innocent jar of peanut brittle and wet yourself not two seconds later." Sands had to suppress a shudder. God, he hated snakes.

"Water!" Axel sighed happily and downed half a bottle of Aquafina in one pull. Mort looked unhappy, removing bottle after bottle out of his pockets and handing them off to Bon-bon. His sleep-tousled hair indicated that he had been asleep at the time of the water crisis.

"You people are such pansies," Sands rolled his eyes at the display. "Have any of you had Mexican before?"

"You said it was Chinese," Axel accused.

"Sweet and sauce is. This is an improvised puerco pibil marinade. Totally Mexican and not half bad. If anything, you should all thank me for making you multicultural."

"Thanks, Juan, for ruining my day," Spencer sneered. He'd cracked open his second bottle of water.

"That's _Don_ Juan to you, fuzz butt," Sands smirked. Spencer glared, but the overall effect was marred when he burped. Sands hid his grin by standing up for stretch and ambling to the beach. The score was tied at one.

**Varua- Afternoon**

**Spencer was behaving himself. Somewhat. **The point was that while he was up to no good, he was not actually _doing_ evil at that very moment. It was something of an improvement.

"Fish Boy, you busy?" he whispered. Axel looked over, a perplexed frown crossing his features.

"No, why?"

"I've got a plan to get Sheldon back. With me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you with me?"

"Spencer, are you sure you need to declare war on Sands? If you haven't noticed, we're the only people still on this island representing Inaga. Do you want to get yourself kicked off for being annoying? You started it last night. All of what might happen today can and probably will be traced back to you," Axel pointed out. "Please think about this."

"You're killing my fun," Spencer grumbled.

"I would have thought you'd prefer to stay on the island is all," Axel sighed. "No skin off my nose if you don't."

If one thing could be said about Axel, it was that he knew how to make a man feel guilty. Really guilty. The more Spencer sulked, the more Axel's words made sense. And how Spencer disliked sense.

"Fish Boy, you bug me."

Axel laughed. "I know."

**Varua- Afternoon**

**Mort had found that no **matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the knowledge that is was April Fool's Day. It had never meant anything to him before Psnoo came along. It still didn't. It meant absolutely nothing to Morton Rainey. Nope, not a bit.

He sighed. His angel was probably off gallivanting around, terrorizing innocent angels, sidekicks and new members while he was stuck in this cruddy place. But not all was lost. It _was_ April Fool's Day. Maybe he could do something in her honor. She'd like that. And Duke didn't seem to be doing a whole lot either; a glazed look in his eye said his mind had been wandering. Maybe he'd help. Mort rolled over to get a better look at the journalist.

"Uh…Raoul?"

"I didn't do it!" he started.

"Do what?"

"Nothing, nothing, I want nothing!"

Mort shook his head. "Duke…"

"What?" Duke looked hurt.

"I need your help."

"I'm out of ether!"

"I don't want ether!"

"Oh. Well then. Uh…what do you want?"

"A partner in crime. It's April Fool's Day."

Duke groaned. "How many times have you been _on_ this island? Why can't I ever see the Fiend?"

"Duke?" Mort's eyes narrowed in question.

"Psnoo, you're Psnoo! I bet the giant lizards switched you with Mort while I wasn't watching," he pouted.

"Duke, I'm Mort. I just want to-"

"Mort wouldn't want to prank people. He'd want an afternoon nap!"

"So would Psnoo, if you're going to play that game, but I'm really me. Mort. It'd be nice if we finished up before dinner so I could get a nap in, but I'm not going to hold my breath," he rolled his eyes.

"Mort?"

"So I've said."

"The bats don't trust you."

"Don't tell me you've formed some unholy alliance with the bats in your head," Mort winced.

"Don't call them unholy!" Duke snarled. Mort inched away slowly, careful not to present his back to the rabid Duke. The writer wasn't sure he'd survive the encounter if he did. When he was finally alone, Mort sat down to ponder his predicament. He was going to do something rather… devious. He didn't know what or how, only that he would. He could go big, or go conventional. Since Mort had nothing to lose, he figured he'd go as big as he possibly could. And with a magic pocket, who knew?

**Varua- Midafternoon**

**Bon-bon had been watching the **water antics of several Johnnys keeping cool in the tropical heat. It had been amusing watching Jack…pardon, _Captain_ Jack engage in a water fight with Sands and Axel. Bon-bon could hear Spencer's growls of distaste become louder over the past ten minutes and was about ready to deck him.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" she sighed.

"The island's only so big," he ground out.

"Then stop moping."

"I am not moping!"

Bon-bon huffed. "And I'm the Baroness of Madagascar! Get up," she ordered. She stood up gracefully and turned to the sulking Spencer with her hands on her hips. "Up!"

"And what are you going to do if I don't?" Spencer frowned. Bon-bon held up a finger, as though saying 'Just you wait.' She cleared the two steps between herself and the alien. She then hauled him upright with undue strength for one of such dainty build and mild disposition. She gripped him by the collar and walked him into the ocean, heedless of clothes or protests.

"Stop this instant, you crazy woman!" Spencer screeched.

"Get in there and stop your whining. I refuse to listen to it anymore," Bon-bon snarled. Spencer shivered, not liking where this was going. Mort, however, had seen his opportune moment. Duke was lost in his own creepy little world, but the exit of Bon-bon and Spencer meant he had the beach to himself. It was time to get to work.

**Varua- Late afternoon**

**Captain Jack allowed the tide** to bring him back to shore. The water fight had taken a lot out of him and it would be nice just to lie on the beach and relax. Get some sleep, as it were. The rest of the water combatants had gotten a similar idea of calling truce and were slowly making their way back to the golden strip of sand.

There was no welcome wagon for the soggy _conquistadores_. Duke was discussing pressing matters with a tree while Mort was passed out on his side near the fire. Jack rolled his eyes, thinking that there couldn't possibly be enough gold in the world to convince him to take them on as part of his dastardly crew. But what he wanted then wasn't shiny trinkets to appease his love of gold; it was a warm, dry jacket and a bottle of rum. Water skirmishes were a cold business, and since Mort was asleep, he shouldn't mind helping a poor pirate out with the latter problem.

Jack scooped up his long jacket and swung it over his shoulders. He didn't like the idea of it getting wet, but he disliked the idea of pneumonia even more. Even as he slid his arms through the sleeves he spotted Axel and Sands tugging on dry T-shirts to fight the effect of the ocean breeze. Spencer and Bon-bon had to go back to the shelter to retrieve fresh clothes if they wanted immediate warmth.

"Eww," someone moaned. Jack glanced upward and saw Axel peeling his shirt back off again. His hair, face and chest were covered in a bright yellow color. Sands wasn't bothered by Axel's distress. His own hair was mussed up with a pink paste that seemed to cover his face as well. If Jack was any judge, it looked to be the same kind of stuff that was plaguing Axel. Jack checked his jacket hurriedly only to find blue gunk covering the sleeves of his white shirt. His _only _white shirt.

"A'right ye scabrous dogs, which one o' ye's responsible fer this!" Jack yelled, pulling his arms back out of his sleeves. Jack would find out if it was the last thing he did. And from the startled yelps from the shelter, Jack could deduce that it wasn't Bon-bon or Spencer.

"Jack, it's silly string. Who do you think is responsible?" Sands sighed. He remembered April Fool's Day 2004 well; he had a couple of wild guesses. Jack wasn't following his train of thought.

"Who?"

"Think about it. It'll come to you." Sands stripped the ruined shirt off tossed it aside before checking his khaki shorts. He would _not_ be covered in silly string from head to butt if he had any say in it. Luckily, his shorts were clean.

Jack did think about it, but found he'd much rather take care of his shirt first. Once exposed to sunlight, the silly string seemed to want to dry. Jack was smeeped if he wanted his shirt and jacket to dry blue and crusty.

"I'll do the laundry," Axel whispered. If there were worse things than being covered in yellow, he couldn't think of them at the moment. It would be better to get out with some dignity where possible. He trudged up to the shelter to get Bon-bon's and Spencer's effects, managing by the skin of his teeth not to burst out laughing. Suffice it to say that what Axel was to yellow, Bon-bon was to green and Spencer to purple.

Axel had barely started in on the clothes at the freshwater stream when Spencer, Sands and Bon-bon had trickled up to rid themselves of goop. Spencer looked ready to start a physical fight when Sands arrived, but dropped the macho act when he saw Sands peculiar hairstyle and pink hue.

"Eat it up, fuzzball," Sands rolled his eyes, a tired smile on his face.

"Oh, but I am. Charming. I'm impressed," Spencer grinned.

"I'm betting that I clean up prettier than you," Sands remarked casually, sinking to the bottom of the shallow stream. The longer the silly string stayed wet, the better.

"Fat chance."

"Are you calling me fat?" Sands ducked below the surface to submerge his hair and came back up with a spray of water. Spencer looked mischievous

"Perhaps."

Sands wasted no time; he grabbed Spencer around the neck and dragged him into the water for a noogie. Bon-bon sighed as a wavelet came up to her chest. Boys were so incredibly stupid.

Somewhere during the course of the laundry, the joining of Axel, and the splash-fest, the four Survivors managed to get clean. It was like an Axe Shower Gel commercial, without the raunchy behavior. The silly stringed apparel was set on tree branches and would dry overnight, but that meant another change of clothes was still in order. Jack, who hadn't needed a bath, had already beaten them to it.

"And I thought you were pink, Sheldon," Spencer cocked his head. If he wasn't greatly mistaken, the pirate captain was sporting a new, pale pink, nay, _chartreuse _shirt.

"One crack about me shirt 'n I send ye t'Davy Jones' locker," Jack growled. " 's not me fault that Gibbs washed it with his red socks." Axel nodded knowingly, having just combated the problem of lights and darks himself.

"You ask Mr. Sleepy Head why we came back to ruined clothes yet, Captain?" Bon-bon asked sarcastically.

" 'E's already awake if ye'd like t'ask him, lass," Jack replied.

"Then I will. Thank you, Captain," Bon-bon smiled tightly. She made her way over to the fire where Mort was currently trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. To all appearances, he looked as though he'd just woken up. Sands grinned; much as he liked Mort, he hated being pink just a bit more. Mort deserved this chewing out big time.

"Bon-bon?" Mort scooted over to allow room for the transvestite. She opted to remain standing.

"You weren't just napping this past hour, were you? Catching up on some much needed sleep and what not?" she asked sweetly.

"Uh, yes. Yes I have been." Mort had the grace to look confused. "Why?"

"You didn't catch the difficulty we had, did you? Because it was very confusing. You don't know how silly string wound up on the island, do you? Because I don't. Do you think someone brought it with them, Mort?"

"If you're accusing me of taking silly string out of my pocket, I'd rather like to know what is so very wrong with it. Because the string could very well have come from my pocket, but I'm not always in control of – hey!" Mort sputtered. Sands shrugged, pocketing the bottle of rum he'd taken and twisting open the tequila.

"I like my entertainment with a shot of tequila. Jack just wanted me to snag him a drink while I was at it," he offered by way of explanation. Mort glared.

"You're stalling, Mortybear." Bon-bon injected all of her old charm into that one "Mortybear." It was enough to make Mort shiver.

"Are you trying to tempt Shooter?"

"Are you trying to avoid my question?" she asked innocently.

"What was it?"

"Why was there silly string on the island, Mortybear?"

"Y'know, that's awful distracting-"

"Mort!"

"It came from my pocket. That's a given. I don't know why you're all so worked up over it."

"Maybe because we were covered in it," Spencer called from his vantage point. Bon-bon raised and eyebrow to see how Mort would answer that.

"Were you? All of you?"

"All of us. Well, everybody except you and Duke the vegetable over there. You'd understand why we figure it has to be you," Bon-bon smirked.

"Well done, Sherlock. You caught me," Mort smiled lazily. "I have to admit, you all looked very pretty. Very colorful."

"Why smeeping pink? Answer that," Sands demanded.

"Because you remind me of Steve Bescemi in black and it seemed appropriate?"

"I saw the movie. Do I look like a professional to you?"

"Okay, how's about your inner Babbette was dying to come out and I just did it as a favor," Mort smirked.

"Be that as it may, it's my inner Jeffrey that wants to tear you limb from limb right now."

"Tell him to lighten up."

"You freely admit that you did it? That's too easy," Bon-bon mused.

"Why shouldn't I brag? It's what Psnoo would have done. She'd proud of being a troublemaker."

"You've got more tricks."

"No, honest! I just wanted to do something in honor of today. Nothing as elaborate as say…masquerading as an EA and terrorizing Angel Headquarters. If such a thing could be done," he scoffed.

"I believe him," Axel murmured.

"You believe in the good of everyone," Spencer rolled his eyes.

"And that's why I still talk to you," Axel snorted.

"Aren't we getting all mushy," Sands rolled his eyes. Spencer's look was enough to send him into fits of laughter, thus endangering his tequila.

"We've all gotten mushy," Mort observed. "I think it's the air."

"You say th'air, I say th'water," Jack glanced around suspiciously.

"No. It's definitely the food," Axel nodded seriously. Sands suddenly cocked his head. He glanced from side to side anxiously, as though trying to spot an invisible enemy. He looked spooked.

"Sands?" Mort asked. Sands waved Mort off and began sniffing the air. The scent was _very_ familiar.

"Ether," he whispered.

"Say what?" Spencer frowned.

"Someone planted ether around here," Sands snapped. "And I bet-"

Sands never got to finish. Mort burst out laughing which prompted Bon-bon into a giggle fit as well. Jack took a swig of rum.

"If there's ether around, how could we _know_, mate?"

"You're awful philosophical, Captain Jack. Care to take a walk with me?" Sands grinned cheesily. Oh boy, if it wasn't ether, Sands didn't know what to believe in anymore. He thought his little demonstration, if a bit embarrassing on his part, would prove his point nicely. After all, he was the only one besides Duke who could recognize the stuff by smell.

"I won't be walking the plank, will I?" Jack asked.

"Hey, I can understand you!" Sands laughed. "No, no plank, but I bet you can walk a straight line."

"Eh?"

"C'mon, get up. Lend me a shoulder, Captain." Sands wobbled to his feet, even as he gestured for Jack to do the same. Jack was weary of the audience he'd developed-all the campfire dwellers had smirks and snickers for the developing show-but he complied with Sands' request. He had a sure stance, unlike Sands who seemed to have developed two left feet.

"You don't look so good, Sands," Jack quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sick?"

"I'm not unconscious, so I'd have to say I was doing okay. Let's get to that plam…pam…plmmmm…" Sands took a second to crack his jaw. "Paaaaaalm tree, shall we? Whoa, easy… easy…" Sands stumbled. He was slowing down, whirring to a disjointed stop. Jack seemed more comfortable than ever with the confidence of a sobered step on his side. They made an interesting pair, ambling to the nearest palm in the darkening light. They earned their fair share of giggles from the people gathered by the fire. At least until Mort squeaked and dove behind Bon-bon.

"It's just a bat," Bon-bon scoffed. Mort whimpered.

"But there haven't been bats on this island. It's something else!"

"How the mighty hast fallen," Spencer chortled.

"It's a bat. Look, it got a…thing. A bug," Bon-bon waved vaguely. Mort's eyes followed the lone bat with distrust. Bats did _not_ belong around here.

"Bat?" Sands asked. He all but fell to the ground, his motor skills shot. It was a relief to sit. Or lie down, judging by the sudden sideways position of the world.

"Bat!" Mort pointed. And sure enough, it was a bat, swooping against the twilight. None of the Survivors had encountered a bat once since they'd landed on the island. Except Duke. But he seemed to see them a lot on any occasion so he didn't really count.

"Bat_s_," a voice murmured. The S was emphasized and there was a definite smile implied in the word. No sooner had it been said, than the entire sky filled with bats. They were swooping and screeching and diving about the fire. And voices were screaming, "Holy smeep, get 'em _off_!"

Poor fools under the influence of ether were flopping to the ground in fear and trying to crawl away. The bats tugged at their clothes and nipped at exposed skin. Whatever rational sense the Survivors had hung on to at the mention of ether fled in the face of the bat attack. And the mystery voice crowed with laughter. Before any serious pants wetting could begin, however, the onslaught came to a sudden stop. The bats disappeared, leaving a violet-red sky in their wake. Axel sobbed.

"April Fools," the voice whispered.

"Duke!"

"It's not easy taking mind altering substances, is it?" Duke smirked, seating himself on a log. Survivors crawled back towards the light, anger in their eyes.

"What were those?" Mort growled.

"What were what?" Duke asked casually.

"The bats!"

"Well…bats. What'd you think they were?"

"Not bats!"

"But they were bats."

"Where are they now?"

"I called them off. I thought you all had had enough."

"More than enough," Sands muttered.

"Be grateful you didn't see the giant lizards or the manta rays. They're much more vicious than the bats. I've got an understanding with the bats, you see."

"Swell," Spencer groaned. "Does that mean we'll be seeing more of them?"

"Is tomorrow April Fool's Day?"

"I sure hope not."

"Are you planning on snooping around in my case?"

"Definitely not."

"Then perhaps not, if you're lucky. They might've bonded with you, in which case…you might have to learn to like them and I can't help you there."

Spencer buried his head in his hands as the rest of the tribesmen (and woman) felt their morale sink a bit lower. Duke got to his feet.

"To show you I meant no harm, I'll make dinner."

"No!" Bon-bon screeched.

"I'll do it," Jack interrupted.

"No tricks?" Mort asked feebly.

"No tricks, lad."

**Varua- Night**

**After an invigorating dinner of **100-percent-unfooled-around-with rice, the tribe was feeling weary, but happy. For a day of intense paranoia, nobody had come out terribly worse for wear. It was a minor miracle. They hadn't gotten much rest, but not everything could be expected to be and make up for it. Sands wasn't long asleep when he heard another hiss. He barely hid his spasm under the guise of the sudden waking of the heavily sleeping.

"Psst! Sands!"

"Uh," he grunted.

"About today…did that really happen?" Spencer asked.

"Huh?" Sands rolled over. Spencer was looking solemn. He couldn't for the life of him put the events of the day into place.

"Did you really get me to play in the water?"

"I didn't do anything. I gave you a noogie, and you retaliated. That's that," Sands yawned.

"I hate water."

"Well, it's a wonder you haven't dehydrated yet, isn't it?"

"I'm serious. Was it ether?"

"Hm?"

"Was it ether that caused that senseless frolicking?"

"Senseless frolicking…?" Sands paused, knowing full well it couldn't have been ether. There had been too many things that pointed away from it: the rate ether dissipates, the time Duke had laced the fire with it, how Mort hadn't had symptoms before, etc. But Sands wasn't entirely sure he was ready to admit that he'd just fooled around with Spencer. It didn't seem kosher on any level and it clashed with his dwindling bad boy image. It was better at this point to tell a white lie than to compromise himself. "Yeah. Probably ether," Sands nodded. "Don't get used to it."

"Okay. Thanks, Sheldon."

"No problem, Mr. Armacost. Permission to sleep?"

"Yeah, sure. Night."

Sands rolled over, eager to end the conversation. It was not something he wanted to be dealing with that time of the night. Moments later, Spencer curled into a ball and his breathing evened out. Sands sighed. That had been close.

**Varua- Morning**

**Axel was the first Survivor **awake for a change. AFD may have been over, but Axel had taken Sands' threat seriously and volunteered for breakfast detail.

"Challenge day," Mort murmured when he finally arrived at the fire. "What do you think the reward will be today?"

"A car or a visit from family. It's getting late enough in the game for something like that," Axel shrugged. It would certainly be a nice reward, the family visit thing. He'd never actually _met_ his new Angel (outside of the time-space continuum. Funny thing that.) He'd more than had his fill of cars though.

"Oh. Good," Mort nodded.

"Think the clue's in?" Spencer asked.

"The bats are getting it now," Duke mumbled into his food. Survivors recoiled as Duke glanced upwards, a perplexed expression on his face. "What?"

"Bats!" Bon-bon yelled.

"Don't worry, they're not back yet. One bat can't lift the clue by himself. I sent the whole group to get it."

"They won't attack?"

"Of course not. They've never bothered you before and wouldn't have if it hadn't been for me." He grinned snidely. Nobody looked reassured, but they let it go. It was time to pump themselves up for the challenge and get in the mind set they needed. A chant wouldn't have gone amiss.

"Aha! They got it," Duke announced. "And it looks physical."

_A man is in love with his damsel in distress_

_You Survivors must confess_

_Enough to brave the sea?_

_The reward winner will have to be._

"Charming," Axel murmured.

"Well, I don't know about you chickadees, but I'm full to _bursting_ with boundless energy and cannot _wait _ for this silly challenge to get underway. I want to go _now _or I'm just going to freak right out," Sands stretched. He was feeling pent up, so it wouldn't hurt to show a little bravado while he was able.

"Why not?" Bon-bon shrugged. There was no longer any point in prolonging the inevitable.

**Varua- Afternoon**

**The clearing didn't look particularly **special, but the Survivors could have been taking it for granted. There was the host, same as ever. The solidarity was almost reassuring.

"Morning, Survivors. Fairing well?"

"Well enough," Mort replied.

"No freak accidents of personalities I hope."

"Not recently," Bon-bon shook her head. The geniality was pleasant.

"Oh good. I bet you're all a bit tired of this game, right? Want to go home, get some good food, see your folks, right?" The host grinned snidely.

"I know he's going somewhere with this," Spencer rolled his eyes.

"What if I were to tell you that the winner of this challenge not only gets to see their angel, but that angel gets to stay for awhile?"

That was kind of nice, they had to admit. Angels were good things. They brought necessities and fun.

"In truth, you'll all get to see your Angels. You're going to rescue them."

"We do it all th'time, mate," Jack grinned.

"That's awfully cocky, Captain Jack. What about the rest of you?"

"Sure," Sands shrugged. He had a mean poker face when it came to competitions. Sweet prize or no, he had to win it first.

"Perhaps seeing them now might get some emotions going," he smiled slyly. "Angels?"

A figure stumbled out of the brush yanking another form behind it. The latter was grumbling about a lack of naps; the former was trying to get her to lighten up. More Angels filed out. Some looked confident and at ease, having been there before, but some still looked mildly worried. Just about all the Survivors were represented: Axel's Rolling Rooster, Duke's Fearless Fiend, Captain Jack's Caribbean Crusader, Mort's Secret Pseudonym, Sands' CIA Agente Arenas, and Spencer's Extraterrestrial Terror. Bon-bon, however, had nobody. She looked about for Dangerbabe, hoping that perhaps she'd only lost the path or something unfortunate like that, but all she found was a new girl who looked rather lost. And then she saw Bon-bon and a smile lit up her face.

"Bon-bon, I'm here to play your Angel. I'm Sugarbutt," she grinned.

"Sugarbutt?" Bon-bon frowned, glancing at Sands before returning her gaze to the girl. "You must be mistaken. I have not Angel yet."

"Not yet, but I've got a note from DB, if you'd like to read it." She thrust forward a crumpled piece of paper for Bon-bon to read.

_Dear BonBon,_

_Sorry I couldn't come myself; it's gotten a bit busy in ye old bio thread. Roux's back--he sure does go through the angels! Anyway, I'm sending Sugarbutt in my place. She's one of my grandkicks and--don't tell anyone I told you this--she's training as an angel for "Before Night Falls"! For you! So treat her good and soon you and Victor just might be packing your bags!_

_Okay. Do good. Win. Have fun. Kick the other guys' butts._

_Your angel 'til you get one,_

_DB_

Bon-bon felt her eyes start to tear. She didn't have an Angel yet, but…soon enough she would. She bit her lip and nodded at Sugarbutt. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Me too," SB rolled her eyes.

"Now that we're all nice and happy, it's time to explain the deal," the host announced. "Your Angels will be out at sea. You will be on shore. But since we can't make this too easy, they're going to be chained up. Fun, right? You'll have the keys, that won't be bad, but it won't be easy for a number of reasons. five locks, ten keys, and all the chains are underwater. Their heads will be submerged, but they'll be hooked to rocks down below and in case things run amok, we have divers on hand. Understand?"

"Carp," CC muttered. "I knew there was a catch.

"This sounds like an Angel Adventure," Fiend murmured.

"But if I'm out there endangering my life, who's writing this part of the story?" Arenas asked suddenly.

"You," Sands quirked an eyebrow. Crickets chirped and Arenas passed out trying to grasp the implications of being in two places at once. By the time she came around, she was already at sea and in chains beside the six other Angels. The coastline looked small and the people on it had the faceless anonymity of the faraway. There was nothing to do now but float and wait.

**Varua- Afternoon**

"**Survivors ready? Go!"**

Sand was kicked up as sever determined Survivors went to retrieve their Angels. Sands, by virtue of the CIA, was able to exploit his good health to get to the front. When it came to the water, Jack had an edge, being a pirate and all. Nobody suspected the man who pulled easily ahead of the pirate. Duke, an avid swimmer, was steadily swimming ahead. The keys were clutched tight in his teeth as he cut powerfully through the sea. The Fiend would have swooned had she been able.

Duke made it to the Fearless Fiend with ample time to spare. He barely got out there when he took a huge breath and dove down to work on the locks.

Jack arrived second and Sands third. The water was beginning to look turgis and dark from the force of the Survivors' frantic treading. Axel swam up, as did Mort, Bon-bon, and finally Spencer, who simply wasn't built for water frolicking.

Sands' technique was to surface once for every key, and with his quick maneuvering, he soon had two locks undone. Jack and Duke were going at it the hard way, several keys per dive. Jack averaged about three or four keys for every gulp of air. Duke, however, was managing five and six at a time. It was like he was possessed by a fish (or a manta ray) and was performing better than anybody had ever though possible. The fifth key snapped open and Duke began prying the chains from the Fiend's body. Duke wound up towing her back to shore before his reserves of strength could give out. He was a quarter of the way there when Jack freed CC, but by then it was a lost cause. Duke and Fiend crashed onto the beach first, panting and laughing, followed by Jack and Sands.

"Duke wins the reward! Congratulations, Raoul," the host beamed.

**Varua- Late Afternoon**

**FF strolled across the sand** in bare feet with a smile on her face and a song in her heart. She glared up at the sun in a moment of discontent but shrugged it off and kept walking. She was in a very good mood and even the two bright suns attempting to scorch her pale skin didn't ruin it. Her Johnny had won a challenge, the bats were actually being nice for a change now that Duke had had dealings with them...all was right with the world. Well, not exactly. It seems that after spending who knows how many weeks together, nerves had become frayed and tempers short.

Hardly a minute went by when Sands or Spencer weren't heckling each other, at which point Axel would step in and try patiently to separate the two like destructive children. Bon-bon looked about ready to deck them both as Jack spaced with his rum and Mort napped. Duke glanced apologetically at the Fiend.

"Has it been like this the whole time?" FF asked incredulously. "I mean, I know I had to do a little refereeing last time, but I thought that maybe you guys were all just having a bad day. How do you live with this?" Duke gave her a pointed look and she lifted her chin in realisation. "Ahh. Copious amounts of drugs. I got it. You're just lucky Donnie's not still here, you little fiend. He'd bust you for sure." Duke just grinned mischievously and together he and FF went to brave the rest of the group.

"For the last time, I did not steal the cookies from the cookie jar. It's a game!" Sands snapped at Spencer who had a finger jabbed into his chest accusingly.

"You stole them! I know your type!"

"No, I laced them with arsenic, there's a slight difference."

"Guys, come on. Can't you just...go to opposite ends of the camp or something?" Axel pleaded.

"He goes first," they said in unison. Their eyes were filled with a similar loathing and hatred for each other.

"Boys, can't we all just get along?" FF asked in a sing-song voice. When she was met with a number of sour looks and all out glares she shrugged. "I guess not," she muttered under her breath. "Ok, what seems to be the trouble. The Doctor is in," FF said wryly. Silence answered her. "Oh come on, I don't often get to see all of you together like this. So talk to me. Rant. Rave. Get all this manly anger off your chests. I'm listening."

"They're immature, snot-nosed, brats!" Bon-bon cried. She met every stare with righteous indignation and no trace of fear.

"And Bon-Bon has the floor," FF announced in a narrative voice. "Run with it, girly. Let it all out. The Fiend is here for you." Duke sent her a wry look and FF shrugged. She clearly had no idea what she was doing, but boy it sounded good, didn't it?

"All they do is argue and bicker and I'm tired of it! I've tried being nice, I've tried ignoring them and there is nothing I can do. They're incorrigible! I'm not saying change radically, just stop trying to bait each other!"

"Now look here a second, girly," Spencer objected.

"Spence? You have a rebuttal?" She turned to Duke and spoke in sotto voce. "That means an argument against, right?" Duke nodded and she turned back to Spencer. "Very well. Go on."

Spencer blinked at the mediators. He never really expected an audience to his darkest rants. "Well, uh..."

"Tongue-tied. Brilliant," Sands smirked. "You know, they're probably filming this for Jerry Springer and you're going to look like a dip. I think I'd pay to watch that if I couldn't get a first hand account."

"Shut up, Sheldon!

"See, you're doing it now!" Bon-bon shrieked. "Stop it! Both of you!"

"SJ," FF said evenly. "I did not give you permission to speak." She cut off what looked to be an argument with a stern glower. "You're not helping matters so kindly stifle yourself." She turned back to Spencer. "Spencer? You still have the floor if you want it."

Sands rolled his eyes while Spencer continued to glare angrily.

"Nothing more to add," he snarled.

"Didn't add anything to begin with," Sands mouthed.

"Sheldon Jeffrey Sands!" FF yelled again. "Do you want me to put you in time out to cool off for awhile? I assure you, I will find a way."

"He started it," Sands shrugged. Spencer gaped, trying to come up with a perfectly cutting remark. Sands waited, a blank expression on his face.

"For Babbette's sake! What are you, nine?" FF cut in, striding over to stand in front of SJ, her arms crossed over her chest and a glower fixed on her face. "Right now you seem to be the trouble maker in this group. If I straighten you out-and believe me, I will-the rest should naturally follow." That was the idea, anyway.

He twitched, dutifully ignoring the Babbette reference. For now. "With all due respect, Miss Fiend, Ma'am, Sir, Lady, person, you weren't here yesterday," he pointed out.

"Are you going to bring that up _every_ time now?" Spencer asked, disgusted.

"If I have to, yes!"

"Oh but you forget, dear SJ. You're being broadcast over a live studio audience. I see everything," FF pointed out smugly. "How the heck do you think I found out about Babbette?"

"Much as I hate Babbette, I hate snakes more. And _he_ had to start this whole thing by bringing snakes into this!"

"I know you don't like snake, Jeffrey. Er," FF floundered for a minute then shrugged and turned to Spencer. "Do you admit to trying to freak Sands out by scaring him with a rubber snake? And remember, there are witnesses."

"Of course I do. It was funny," Spencer shrugged.

"And if Sands had held your head over a barrel of water and threatened to drown you; would that be funny?" FF asked carefully, not wanting to take sides in this.

"I could die in that situation. I hardly see the danger in a rubber snake," he sulked.

"You didn't answer my question, Spencer. Would that be funny? Should I ask Sands? I bet he would think it's funny. Wouldn't you Sands? Of course you would," FF said, not giving Sands a chance to answer for himself. "The method isn't the point, Spencer. It's the result."

"And what result might that be?"

"Fear. And perhaps a good dose of Loathing. Oh wait, we've already got that." Duke snickered behind her and FF couldn't help a small smile on behalf of her Johnny.

"More than our share, if you ask me," Bon-bon muttered.

FF let that slide since it wasn't really a barb intended for anyone. "Well, gentlemen? Do you have anything to say for yourselves or do I have to resort to time-outs?"

"I don't know if time-outs can cure pure evil. I've yet to see evidence that proves it does," Sands replied.

"Nice comeback. Probably read it off a fortune cookie," Spencer sneered.

FF shouted in irritation. "That's it! I've had it with you two and I haven't even been here for that long! You're both insufferable! You clearly have the same sophomoric sense of humour. I don't see why you aren't the best of friends," FF sneered. "How the heck did you two become such antagonists anyway?"

"Because he's a big meany head," Sands nodded seriously.

"Niiice," Spencer rolled his eyes.

"I feel like I'm in grade school again. Or worse, teaching it," FF muttered under her breath. "Care to elaborate on that, Sheldon?" she asked in her best teacher voice.

"Find out anything that went wrong with this tribe, you can probably trace it back to him. I'm just trying to win and not go too insane in the process. Kind of hard with turtles running around, but I'd say I wasn't doing a bad job until Spencer does something to muck it up."

"Like what?" Spencer scoffed.

"The Cuisinart. The constant references to cow blood which are seriously stale. The snake. Do you really want me to continue?"

"Spencer, do you have a response to that? What exactly endeared him to you in the first place anyway?" FF asked dryly.

"...Pardon?" Spencer cocked his head. "Endear? I'd call him anything but endearing."

"Ok since you're an alien I'll accept that your sarcasm meter isn't as finely tuned as the rest of ours are. I was being sarcastic, Spencer." She sent Sands a look warning him not to comment.

"Just the same," he looked hurt. "Though if I had to answer, I'd say it was the fact that we're supposed to do this sort of thing. Detest each other and so forth. It's natural and..."

"What he means is that I'm the David to his Goliath," Sands yawned.

"Hardly! I'm David."

"You don't even know David and Goliath."

"I don't have to! If you claim it, it must be good."

"How do you know I'm not psyching you out?"

"You aren't!"

"I might be."

"Neither of you are David nor Goliath! You're both going to be lying on the ground in pain if you don't shut up for two seconds!"

Spencer looked incredulous, even as Sands frowned. He'd seen the Fiend in an Angel Adventure and knew what she was capable of. Spencer didn't.

"If he insists on being David, That means David's the good guy. He always does that, with his stupid mind games! He did that in the last challenge!"

"I never knew you felt that way, Spencer. It makes me just want to cry for all your woes," Sands snorted. He instantly looked away, biting his lip. He didn't want to say that. The gathered Survivors glanced from FF to Spencer and Sands with all the fascination of a bloody car crash.

"Oh I warned you," FF said coolly. Even Duke took a step away from her. "Johnny's?" She asked the assembled group. "Grab them." The Johnny's stood and looked at her for a minute before she yelled "Now!" and they jumped, and did what she ordered. Once Sands and Spencer were sufficiently restrained, FF crouched on the sand and opened up her case. She pulled out what seemed like the unending length of rope and handed it to Jack. "Jack, you're a pirate. Tell me you're good with knots. I want you to tie these two up."

Jack shrugged and began to tie the struggling men up. Truth be told, he was a little sick of them himself. The knot was tight to prevent escape, but not so tight they'd suffocate.

"Alien cooties," Sands mock shuddered.

"Can't you take anything seriously for once?" Spencer snarled.

"I'm tempted to gag you both, but what fun would that be?" She crouched down again before the two seated and bound combatants, placed just far enough apart so they couldn't kick at each other. "You two are going to sit here until one of two things happen. Number one, you get so fed up with each other that you kill each other without any witnesses around to stop you. Personally I'd miss you both, but right now I couldn't care less. Or two, you settle your differences and make life on the island balanced once more. Sands, I know you believe in balance above all else. And Spencer, surely you must realize that to win you must work together. Now. I don't care if you don't like either of those options. Those are the only two you get. The rest of us will be somewhere far, far away from your bickering. If either of you needs help, just scream. I'm sure someone will come get you. Maybe."

"Oh good, no singing," Sands sighed with relief.

"Would you like me to, SJ? I know how much you love my singing." FF took a breath. Duke, knowing what was about to happen, placed his hands over his ears. The other Johnny's followed his example, figuring he knew best when it came to dealing with the Fiend. SJ would have covered his own ears had such a thing been possible, but he was a bit tied up at the moment. "PLEEEEAAAASSSEEEEE MR. JAILER!"

Had Sands clenched his teeth any harder, they would have crumbled into enamel bits. It seemed like every muscle in his body was contracted rather uncomfortably in an attempt to spring free. Spencer wasn't faring any better.

"Please, stop! I'll do anything!"

FF faked a pout. "I don't think you like my singing at all. Would you really do anything to keep me from singing again, SJ? Spencer?"

Sands looked away, not wanting to tempt fate.

"Anything, you name it," Spencer nodded vigorously.

"Spencer, glad to hear it. We'll get to that in a minute. Sands?"

"I don't beg," he answered stubbornly.

"Oh. Well if that's the case, then I guess I'll just have to sing some more. A strong man knows when he's beaten, Sands." She took another deep breath, preparing to sing.

Sands cringed. "Fine, fine. Stop. Just...no more."

FF rewarded him with a brilliant smile. "You two are going to work out whatever animosity remains between you for the sanity of the rest of the group, savvy? That means no more cruel pranks and only witty snarkish banter if both parties are willing. Is that understood?"

"That's asking the impossible," Sands shook his head.

"Shut up, she'll sing!" Spencer hissed. "We'll do it."

"Spencer is wiling. I'm very proud of you, Spencer. Now Sands, you of all people should know by now that anything's possible. Are you even going to try? I was under the impression that you were an American."

"I hate it when people throw my catch phrases back at me," he murmured wryly. "Besides, if I don't cooperate you'll turn into Babbette or something."

"Eh, green's not a good colour on me." FF said with a shrug. "I want your word, Sands. That you'll at least try to play nice. Yours too, Spencer."

"Promise," Spencer said promptly. Sands sighed.

"Promise."

"Well golly! I can't believe that actually worked! Go me!" FF said delightedly. "You so owe me, Arenas," she addressed the island at large with a wink. "Group hug!" she called out with a laugh. No one moved. Not even Duke. "Oh come on, you big spoilsports. Please? For me?" She feigned innocence.

Bon-bon, perhaps the most comfortable with herself, flung open her arms.

"Alright! You go, girl!" FF said with a laugh, giving Bon-Bon a big hug. Since the rest of the Johnny's weren't playing along, FF went around and gave each of them a hug in turn, smiling like an idiot all the while. She saved the still bound Johnny's for last. "I'm one to take promises very seriously, so if I find out you've lied to me and given a false promise, there will be singing. Now give us a hug." She leaned over and pulled the two Johnny's shoulder to shoulder in an uncomfortable-for them at least-three person hug. When FF had taken a good long moment, she righted them both and turned to the rest of the group. "You can let them go now, I think. They've done good."

Their smiles were weak and all but plastered on, but they didn't say a word. Jack had them free in less than a minute, but the atmosphere on the island had become just a bit greyer.

"Want a grapefruit or something?" Duke asked suddenly. "Full of essential vitamin C. Need all you can get around here."

"Eh too sour for me, Dukey, but give them some. I'm sure they could use it," FF said, looking over Sands and Spencer intently. "Now remember boys, you promised to play nice."

"What do you do for fun on Earth?" Spencer asked all too brightly.

"Uh...tag!" SJ nodded vigorously.

FF rubbed at her imaginary beard in thought. "Yes, tag is fun. I like books and movies myself but I could see how the choices would be a little…limited on an island in the middle of nowhere. You could play golf like they do on Lost but I don't have any golf clubs. Sorry."

Sands reached into Mort's pocket, ignoring the protests, and withdrew a golf club worldlessly.

FF smacked herself in the forehead at her own forgetfulness. "Dur. Magic pockets. Why didn't I think of that? Oh and that was very nifty, SJ. Very…Mary Poppins."

"Thank you, Miss Fiend," Sands mumbled. "C'mon, Spencer, let's go...golf."

"Right-o!" Spencer agreed and the two took off into the brush.

"As long as those two don't beat each other to death with the clubs, I'll be a happy Angel. I'd say we should go supervise, but who knows? Maybe they'll…bond." The other Johnny's gave her a collection of looks varying in incredulity. "What? It could happen."

"I dunno. They've hated each other since they met," Mort pointed out.

"And neither of them will make it easy on the other," Axel sighed.

"Oh hush. You guys are ruining my good vibes," FF muttered.

"The bats are getting agitated," Duke remarked. At the stares, he shrugged. "Just thought you all might like to know."

FF nodded thoughtfully. "That's my cue to leave, I think," she said with a small sigh. "Well it's been real, it's been fun, but it's not been real fun. Kidding! I love you guys."

"Smeep," Duke frowned.

FF hugged him tightly. "It'll be alright, Duke. Be good, ok? And don't let the bats boss you around. They have a tendency to do that if they're not watched close-like, you know," she sniffed.

"I've been watching them close enough. Tricksy little smeeps," he answered mildly.

"Good," she said with a soft smile. "Do good, ok? I know you'll make me proud whatever happens." She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, conscious of the other Johnny's watching. "I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, and uh...take care of the...Strip...and...iloveyou," he mumbled, also very conscious of the people around him.

FF grinned brilliantly at him, hugging him again tightly and whispering, "I love you too," in his ear before waving to the rest of the Johnny's and walking down the beach the way she came. She didn't look back; she wouldn't have been able to leave if she had.

**Varua- Midnight**

**Sands and Spencer creeped into **camp very late that night. The fire was low and the majority of the Survivors had gone to bed, with the exception of Duke who seemed to be conversing with thin air. Spencer shrugged. Beggars can't be choosers.

"Hey, is she gone yet?" he called. Duke jumped, but recovered quickly.

"What?" he snapped.

"Is she gone yet? You know…FF," Spencer elaborated.

"Hm? Oh uh…yeah. She's gone…" Duke muttered.

The two troublemakers sighed with relief and shook hands. Soon afterwards, they realized what they were doing and promptly let go, feeling terrifically awkward.

"So…I'll just go to bed and…" Sands scuffed his foot.

"See you in the morning," Spencer bowed his head.

"Right, right. Bright and early," Sands nodded.

"Yes! Getting along just fine," Spencer backed towards the shelter slowly, a smile on his face. Sands nodded and waited for Spencer to settle down before making his way inside as well. Duke rolled his eyes and returned to his dialogue with the bats.

"You see what I have to put up with everyday?"

"I wouldn't worry until they start talking to imaginary things," one squeaked encouragingly.

"The dark haired one already does," Duke pointed out.

"Oh. Um…it's probably not important anyway."

"I sure hope not."

**Varua- Morning**

**It was a normal day **on the outside. Hungry Survivors demanded breakfast, others ruminated about the state of the game and the challenges. What wasn't apparent were the Survivors that dreamed of a radio that wouldn't turn off or a circle of Hell where you were forced to chase a little white ball for all eternity. Despite the drawbacks, everyone was rather pleasant to each other.

"Anymore rice?" Mort asked.

"About half a bowl left," Bon-bon answered.

"Anybody want it?"

An assortment of "no"s later, Mort was taking another bite of breakfast. Duke looked up to see the clue floating lazily towards him in the claws of several fuzzy bats. He thanked them graciously and read.

_A little target practice is nice_

_If you'd like a bit more than rice_

_But this isn't for fun_

_There's immunity to be won_

_You'll be cooler than the guys on Miami Vice_

"Miami Vice?" Mort snorted.

"I wouldn't be talking. You like Chico and the Man," Sands reminded him. Mort shook his head in defeat.

"Guns? I hate guns," Bon-bon moaned.

"Let's not be too depressed now," Spencer announced. "It's bad for morale and…and…"

"Yeah, that," Jack grinned, taking another swig of rum. No one questioned how he always seemed to have a bottle on hand, they just knew he was better off if he had his supply.

"Let's go, then, shall we?" Spencer smiled hopefully.

"Sure," Axel laughed.

**Varua- Afternoon**

**The host was leaning comfortably **against a cannon, which elicited a gasp of wonder from the group. Guns were all well and good, but a canon…that was a thing of _power_. And it looked kinda fun, too.

"I trust you all had fun yesterday," the host grinned.

"Oh yes," Spencer nodded.

"Indubitably," Sands agreed.

Duke snorted, "I enjoyed it. They were busy hiding out, playing golf."

"Were not!" Sands yelled petulantly.

"Yeah!" Spencer added.

"_Please_," Duke snapped.

"So, let's get to the challenge, shall we?" the host chuckled. "In short, you people are going to be blasting those targets over there with this cannon. That cool?"

"Targets?" Bon-bon asked.

"Targets. Over there. You're trying to shoot your opponents' colors before people knock yours down. It's pretty easy, if you know how to use a cannon. I can't imagine you'd have a chance to try though," he winked. Duke said nothing, recalling a time in Colorado when a cannon wasn't as far fetched as it sounded. "We drew lots to see who'd go first. Jack. You're up."

**Varua- Afternoon**

**The competition was nerve wracking. **It was nearly impossible to hit the colored targets, and when a Survivor hit one, it was their own. Murphy's Law was a cruel mistress that day. At that time, just about every Survivor had at least one of their five targets blown to pieces, with the exception of Duke. Duke had Murphy under wraps and the cannon in firm control. His next turn, Duke shot down one of Spencer's navy blue targets, much to Spencer's chagrin.

"Oh come on, I only have two left! That's hardly fair!"

"Everything's fair where Hubert Humphrey's concerned," Duke growled. Spencer scowled and turned away, earning confused and concerned looks from other Survivors. Something was definitely up with Duke.

Sands had taken his turn and chipped one of Axel's targets, but not broken it. The challenge provided nice stress relief, but it was entirely too difficult with the cannon kicking backwards and skewing the shot to either side. He could guess Duke had gotten plenty of practice, judging by the targets he was able to hit time and again. He was even outdoing Captain Jack, who spent more time around cannons than the journalist.

He watched the competition with an aloof air, a candyette balanced lightly between his lips. When it was his turn, he clipped Bon-bon's third hot pink target which sliced it neatly in half. He ignored Bon-bon's glare in favor of leaning against his favorite tree again and chewing the end of the candyette.

"It pulls to the left, sailor."

"Does it, really? What if I said I didn't believe you?"

"I'm not dyslexic and I have fine eyesight."

"I'm not inclined to listen to a figment of my imagination."

"Is that all I am to you?" Babbette shrieked.

"Yeah, more or less."

"I hope you lose this challenge, Mister! You're going to be sorry you ever crossed me-!"

"You okay?" Mort asked Sands curiously.

"Yeah, just having one of _those_ moments."

"That's not good."

"Probably not, but I'm coping."

"Good. Good. That's good," Mort smiled. "It's your turn."

Sands flicked the butt of the candyette away and returned the grin with a smirk. "Thanks, Morty."

"Anytime, Jeffrey."

**Varua- Late afternoon**

**Duke had everybody on the **ropes, but a few were still hanging on. Between the six contestants, they'd manage to take down three of Duke's bright orange targets. Bon-bon, Mort and Axel were out, leaving Spencer (with assumed ray gun experience), Sands (with CIA experience), Jack (with pirate ship experience) and Duke (who just liked explosions of all sorts). Jack blasted another of Duke's targets down. This evened the score, but not enough to put anyone at ease, with one target per remaining Survivor, save Duke.

Sands aimed carefully at a conspicuous orange one beside his last shining black target. He never saw the turtle lumber out of the forest. Babbette butted his thigh as he shot the cannon. The target went wide and blasted his black target to bits.

"Someone get this turtle out of here!" the host shouted. Sands barely spared a hardened glace for the reptilian hanger-on.

"I hope you sleep better tonight."

"I will," she hissed as she was led away.

"Sands, we can redo that one if you want-" the host offered.

"No. I clearly had it coming. I'll…suck it up."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure, whatever."

"Can I shoot now?" Spencer asked.

"Uh…yes! Please," the host bowed. Spencer nodded and lined his shot, narrowly missing Duke's second to last target. Not only Spencer, but Jack cursed. Duke had yet to miss a shot; there was no way either of them could pick up a win. Duke knocked Spencer out easily, followed by Jack's half-hearted destruction of one of Duke's last targets. Duke's eye adopted a steely look as he nailed Jack's last target.

"Well, someone's on a roll. Duke wins immunity!"


End file.
